


Collide

by copperleaves



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Case Fic, Casual Sex, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Eventual Romance, F/M, Face-Sitting, Frottage, Language Kink, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, NOT a love triangle, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Spanking, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 09:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 69,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperleaves/pseuds/copperleaves
Summary: Owner of a popular Tribeca art gallery, Olivia Gable is also the victim of an aggressive stalker. As SVU pursues the case, Sonny Carisi and Olivia begin an affair, but Olivia finds herself fascinated by Rafael Barba--despite a disastrous blind date set up by his mother that left them both fuming. They were happy with their lives before that night, but now they find themselves wondering if there isn't something more to life than work and an amazing wardrobe.





	1. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who might follow my blog, this is the infamous "SVU trash fic". I meant it to be a quick, porny one-shot, but instead it's 40k words and growing. It's trash, tho. I wanna be clear on that point. That's why I'm stealing my OC from my SoA shit. It's self-indulgent and (hopefully) fun, and honestly shouldn't fanfic be exactly that?
> 
> Enjoy, and don't think too hard. :)
> 
> Thanks to my co-creator, Lynn. The original germ of the idea was mine (I think???), but she's been there every step of the way with ideas, inspiration, and assistance. Like a goddamn enabler.

She only agreed to the date in the first place because his mother was such a nice lady.

Lucia Barba had assured Olivia Gable that her son, Rafael, was perfect for her. Single, successful, handsome, smart…the praise went on and on. Seeing his picture on Lucia's phone, Olivia had to admit he had a certain something. Nice smile, nice eyes, a little gray at the temples: all things Olivia liked.

"He's a bit older than you," Lucia had said. "Eleven years, not much, but if that bothers you…"

The age difference wasn't the problem. As Olivia sat across from him, a table of Thai food between them, she wondered how on earth a woman as kind and genuine as Lucia had given birth to and raised a man as insufferable as this one.

He was stiff and rude, dismissive of her attempts at conversation and constantly on his damn BlackBerry. A  _BlackBerry_! It was 2017, for God's sake. Who the hell had a BlackBerry anymore?

When she asked about his job as an ADA, he told her it was "complex." Like she was some idiot who couldn't possibly understand the most basic aspects of the law.

"My mother says you work at an art gallery?" he said when the conversation hit a lull.

She bristled. "Own, actually. I  _own_  the gallery. Jameson on Franklin?"

His eyes flicked up as he searched his memory. "Never heard of it," he finally decided.

"We've been written up in the Sunday  _Times_ , the  _New Yorker_ ,  _New York_  magazine…" She trailed off, afraid she might sound braggadocios, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention. "And an artist whose career I helped launch will be featured in a MOMA exhibit next month."

"Interesting," he said, tapping a button on his phone.

"Maybe Google it," she said between gritted teeth.

After that her answers became brief, almost blunt, and the evening went swiftly downhill. She had no time for arrogant jerks who couldn't even  _pretend_  to be interested in her life's work.

He reached for the check, but she stopped him. "Let's split it," she said.

"That's fine," he replied with a brief, chilly smile.

They each handed the waiter their cards and sat ignoring each other while they waited for him to return. She played with the mint. The straw in her jasmine iced tea. Anything to avoid looking at him. Not that it would have mattered: he, of course, was on that stupid phone.

Finally their server dropped the check off again. She noticed he tipped well, above twenty percent. That was in his favor, but it was too little, too late. She signed her name and stood, grabbing her coat.

"Well, Mr. Barba, I'll be sure to tell your mother that we had a lovely meal," she said as they left the restaurant.

"I apologize for her, Ms. Gable. She means well, but I can't get it through her head that I don't want to be fixed up."

"Mmm," she remarked, mildly. "You could've fooled me. I thought you were thrilled to be here." She lifted her hand to hail a cab and missed his annoyed expression.

"I was doing a favor for my mother," he said. "She seems to think we're perfect for each other."

A taxi pulled to the curb and she grabbed the door handle. "Can't win 'em all, Mr. Barba. Goodnight." She climbed in and the yellow car rejoined the flow of traffic. Barba watched it go with a scowl.

What an impossible woman. Flighty and sarcastic, a truly awful combination. What was his mother thinking?

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. He checked it and sighed.  _Dinner's over, Mami. You were wrong: we have nothing in common,_  he texted.

_Don't be silly, mijo! Did you talk about the theatre? Or art?_

_No, we didn't get to that. Thank you for the thought, but it just didn't work out._

In Queens Lucia Barba sighed. Stubborn boy. He always had been. Olivia was stubborn, too, which was part of what made them so right for each other. She would just have to work a little harder. A date had probably been a bad idea. They needed to connect organically, in their natural habitats. She smiled and typed.

_Ah well. At least I tried. Still coming for dinner Sunday?_

_Of course, Mami. Always. See you then._

* * *

Olivia had left for her disastrous "date" with Lucia's son at 7:30. Two hours later, she was back home, and glad for it. Her building was only a few blocks from the restaurant. The cab wasn't really necessary, but it's as important to make an impactful exit as it is to make a good entrance: she needed the car for the  _mise-en-scène_.

Her phone rang as she typed in her building's front door code. She laughed and answered it. "Oh god it was a disaster!" she said without preamble.

"What? Really?" Sara, her best friend, said. "He was so cute!"

"Cute? Are you kidding? No, he was an ass." The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. "He was on his phone the  _whole time_ , and he barely listened to a word I said. Finally I just stopped answering more than word or two."

Olivia could hear Sara's sarcasm. "Sounds like you tried really hard to make it work."

"Oh, why should I?" she said.

The creaky elevator binged her floor, and Olivia spared a second to thank the elevator gods that she'd made it upstairs alive. It was a daily ritual, and she lived in fear of the one time she forgot and plummeted to her death on her next journey in the old, shaky metal deathtrap.

"He's a lawyer, Sara! Since when is a lawyer my type?"

"A cute Cuban lawyer with sexy hands? I don't know. Since always?"

She rolled her eyes and stuck her key in her door's lock. "How do you know what his hands look like? Have you been internet stalking again?"

"Maybe. A little. I had to check the guy out. Make sure he was worthy of my very best friend in the whole wide world."

"Yeah, well, you should've checked a little deeper, because—"

Olivia froze.

The phone was nestled between her neck and shoulder, and in her discomfiture she almost dropped it. She could hear Sara through the speaker calling her name. Recovering quickly, she brought it up again.

"Um, let me call you back," Olivia said.

"What's wrong? Something's wrong, I can tell."

"Just—it's fine. I'll call you back." She ended the call and fumbled behind her for the doorknob. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped it.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

First of all, where was Baloo? The big cat was always there to greet her, haughtily demanding food and attention and adoration, even as he pretended he just happened to be passing the front door area and oh look the human's home…

Sliding her hands into her coat pockets, Olivia did a brief tour of the apartment. There was a glass and a plate in the sink. The throw pillow on the couch was in the wrong place, and the afghan was wadded up, not folded neatly how she always left it. The TV remotes were on the table rather than in the box she stored them in.

She swallowed and pushed into the bedroom. Relief sagged her shoulders when she heard Baloo's indignant cries coming from the closet.

"Dumb dumb," she said as she opened the door. "How did you get in there?"

He sauntered out, clearly furious, and rubbed himself against her legs like he hadn't seen her in a month. She picked him up, murmuring soothing little nothings, and held him against her chest as she continued to take stock.

Her underwear drawer was open. The quilt on her bed was—oh god!

She stumbled backward out the bedroom door, nearly tripping in her haste. The cat clawed her and she dropped him to the floor with a  _thunk_.

With shaking hands she fished her phone out of her pocket and dialed 911. She was proud of herself for getting it right on the first try. At the operator's prompt, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. "My, um—someone has been in my apartment."

"Is the intruder there now?"

"No, I don't think so. I haven't checked the bathroom yet, but my cat doesn't seem upset. Um, the—the intruder—went through my things, and he…" She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you there?"

"He masturbated on my bed," she finally whispered. "There's—semen. On my bed."

There was a brief pause, then, "All right, ma'am, the police are on their way. Do you have a neighbor you can sit with until they arrive?"

"Yes, I—yes. I live in six B, but I'll be in six A."

"Very good. I'll stay on the line with you to make sure your neighbor's at home."

Olivia took a moment to collect Baloo before she went next door to knock. There was the sound of music being muted, and then her neighbor, Alan Frost, opened the door. He took one look at Olivia's face and ushered her inside without a word.

"He's here. I'm okay."

"Okay, ma'am. The police will be there soon. Just stay put."

Olivia disconnected the call and collapsed onto Alan's couch. Baloo escaped and ran to greet the 100-pound Rottweiler curled on a pink flowered bed in the corner. They sniffed noses, Baloo hissed, and Tink wagged her stump of a tail.

"What happened?" Alan said. "What's wrong? You look like someone just kicked your dog and picked all your petunias."

"More like my underpants," Olivia said, trying not to laugh. If she laughed now she might not stop, and then she really would be crazy.

"Hmm. This calls for tea. With liquor. Don't move." He hurried to the kitchen and started banging things around. Olivia flinched with each bang. "Does this have something to do with The Date?" he called over the noise.

"No. The date was a disaster, but that's not why—someone broke into my place, Alan."

His head appeared around the wall, blue eyes comically wide. "What?! Ollie, WHAT?!" He rushed back to the couch (Alan never just  _walked_  anywhere) and dropped down beside her. "Honey, are you okay?"

"I wasn't home, thank goodness. It looks like he spent some time there. Made himself some food. Watched my TV. Locked my cat in the closet."

"Oh no!"

"Went through my panties."

"Super classy," Alan said, rolling his eyes.

"And jerked off on my bed."

"Oh my God! You're—oh shit you're serious! That is the nastiest—what is  _wrong_  with people?! Straight men, I swear to baby Jesus!"

Olivia let him react. He'd come back to earth soon. In the meantime it was better to just watch.

"You know, around eight or so Tinkerbell started pacing around. Whining a little. I thought maybe she had to go out, but we'd just gotten back from our run, so I told her to settle down." He shook his head, aghast. "Good Lord, it was probably him! You know she doesn't like unexpected guests."

The Rottweiler, hearing her name, lumbered over to join them. She rested her head on Olivia's lap as though sensing her distress and looked up at her with adoring brown eyes. Olivia smiled and stroked her smooth head. "You're a good girl, Princess Tinkerbell. I know you would've stopped that bad man if you could have."

"Listen, sweetie, you can stay here as long as you need to. Tink and I don't mind in the least."

Olivia shook her head. "As soon as the police say it's okay, I'm going back home. It's my place, and some nasty creeper isn't taking that away from me."

Not long after that there was a knock on the door: the cavalry had arrived. The unformed officers asked Olivia to take them inside and give them a tour of what had been disturbed. When they saw her missing underwear and the state of her bed, one of them stepped outside to make a call.

"What's wrong?" Olivia said. "I mean, besides the obvious."

"Nothing, ma'am," the remaining officer said. "We're just callin' in some backup. Standard procedure on somethin' like this. Now, let's go over it one more time. What time did you leave for your date?"


	2. The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SVU is called to Olivia's apartment in the wake of the break-in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh I should've had this on chapter 1, but it's fine here. Obviously my OFC has the same name as a canon character (Olivia), but I refer to the latter as "Liv" or "Benson" or her rank, and Olivia Gable is either "Olivia" or "Ollie." That should cut down on any confusion that might arise. :)

When you were an SVU detective, being bored at work was a double-edged sword. Sure, you were bored. Bored as shit, and inevitably Liv would find you something to do that you really didn't want to be doing. But being bored meant no one was out there getting raped or assaulted or otherwise having their lives ruined by a disgusting pervert on a power trip.

So really, Sonny figured, it was better to be bored than otherwise. He tossed a tennis ball into the air and caught it over and over. Bounced it off the floor a few times, which earned him glares from both Rollins and Fin.

"Don't you have paperwork you could be doing?" Liv said, right on cue. She appeared from her office so stealthily that sometimes Carisi wondered if she'd been a ninja in a past life.

"Uh…sure, Loo, somewhere," he said, digging through a small stack at the corner of his desk. "That flasher case from the other day."

"Get on it. And stop throwing that ball; you're making me jumpy."

Rollins smiled her thanks, but before she could say anything, Carisi's phone rang. Saved from paperwork! Except that meant disgusting perverts on power trips. Carisi mentally crossed himself for his first reaction and picked up the phone.

"Carisi, Special Victims." He grabbed a pen from the cup on his desk and started scribbling notes. "Uh huh. Yeah. Shit, that does sound like our guy. Yeah, we're on the way."

He dropped the phone and shot a grin Rollins' way. "Looks like our masturbatin' home-invader hit another one," he said as he stood and grabbed his coat.

"You sound so fuckin' happy, Carisi. It bothers me," Rollins said. She got her own coat and shrugged into it.

"Apparently he stole some panties this time," Carisi said. He gently rested a hand on his partner's back and steered toward the elevator. "Made himself a sandwich or somethin' too."

"Jesus. Really making himself comfortable." She frowned and wound her scarf around her neck as they walked. "Sounds like he's escalating. Rape might be next. We really need to catch this guy before it gets worse."

"The building has security cameras. We might get lucky this time."

Rollins did little more than shake her head in acknowledgement. Luck was sometimes part of the job, but more often it seemed to rest on the criminals' side, not the law's. That was a cynical attitude for someone who did what she did, but sometimes it couldn't be avoided. Not everyone could have her partner's wide-eyed optimism and faith in the justice system.

On the way to the newest crime scene they went over what they knew about the perp. "Three break-ins so far, this one makes the fourth," Rollins said.

"Always jerks off on the bed," said Carisi.

"DNA isn't in the system, which is surprising since a step like that usually points to escalation."

Carisi shrugged a shoulder. "Mighta been picked up for peepin' or somethin' before routine DNA collection."

They'd had this conversation a dozen times since catching the first Herky Jerky Creepy Lurky case. That's what the uniforms were calling him, and when Liv heard it she nearly went through the ceiling. What if the press got wind of the nickname?! What if a  _victim_  heard it?

They all looked shame-faced and made sure to keep their voices down next time.

"This one's a little different, though," Carisi said. "The food. The underwear. Herky Jerky's gettin' comfy, like you said."

"Seeking a closer connection with his victims, maybe. More than just the masturbation." Rollins considered the angles, her face scrunched with consternation. "We need to warn the other three women. He might decide to revisit them, pick up a souvenir."

"Great. More reason for them to be terrified," Carisi muttered.

The rest of the ride was quiet as they pondered the case. So far no one had been hurt, physically, but as Rollins had pointed out back at the station, with perps like this it was only a matter of time. Peeping. Break-ins. The masturbation and now the underwear theft. He was escalating, all right, and the next woman might not be as lucky as the previous four.

Carisi double parked beside a blue and white outside the victim's apartment building. They flashed their badges and the uniform at the front door pointed them upstairs.

"Jesus," Rollins said as the elevator creaked to a stop and they stepped off of it. "I feel lucky to be alive."

He flashed her a brief grin of agreement as they headed toward the cluster of crime scene techs and uniforms at the end of the hall. "Detectives Rollins and Carisi, SVU," he said. "This the apartment?"

"Yep," one of the cops said. "CSU's doin' their thing, but they haven't disturbed anything."

"Good. Where's the vic?" Rollins said.

"Next door with the neighbor. The 911 operator told her to wait over there. We've got someone with her now."

"Okay, walk us through it real quick, then we'll talk to her," Carisi said.

The cop flipped open his notebook. "Victim is Olivia Gable, white, thirty-five, owns an art gallery in Tribeca. She lives alone except for her cat Baloo. What the hell kind of name is that for a cat? It ain't even blue," he said as an aside.

Carisi shrugged. "Means 'bear.' Maybe it's a big cat." At their blank looks he held out his hands in a  _come on_  gesture. "Like  _The Jungle Book_? Baloo? Bagheera? Shere Khan?" He huffed when they still just stared at him and made a mental note to check Rollins' stock of Disney movies. It was never too early to start Jesse's education. "Never mind. Where was the vic when our perp broke in?"

"On a date. She left the apartment around seven-thirty and got back around nine-thirty."

"Wow," Rollins said. "Two hours? Must've been a lousy date."

"That's what she said," the cop said with a grin. "She said she knew right away somethin' was off. She noted the dishes in the sink, and a blanket on the couch not like she usually left it. The cat was locked in her bedroom closet, her underwear drawer was open and had been rifled through, and of course the, uh…parting gift…on the bed."

"Okay," Rollins said. "I'll take the neighbor. You talk to the vic," she said to Carisi.

"Ten-four," he said, and followed her into the neighboring apartment.

* * *

He noticed her hair first: a bright, coppery beacon he could pick out in the small crowd despite her height. The second thing he noticed, of course, because she was tiny. Petite, curvy, with pale skin and freckles. She wore a dark purple lace skirt that she smoothed over her knees with small, nervous hands. She stood when she saw him, and he realized  _tiny_  was the wrong word. Yes, she was little, but, like Shakespeare said, she was fierce.

Two bright spots of color burned at the apples of her cheeks, and her green eyes glinted with fury. She'd gotten over the fear stage of things quickly, but Carisi knew it would come back. You didn't go through something this violating and come out unscathed.

"Ms. Gable?" he said. At her nod he smiled a little. "I'm Detective Sonny Carisi with Special Victims. Mind if we talk a little?"

"Sure. I told the other cops everything that happened, but we can go over it again."

He held his hand out, indicating the hallway. "Would you be comfortable walking me through the apartment, and everything you noticed out of place? Start with getting off the elevator."

"Um, okay." She crossed her arms around her middle, tugging the sleeves of her cashmere sweater lower on her wrists. Not quite as unafraid as she seemed, then. He followed her into the hallway and cleared everyone out of their way. She stopped at the elevator and glanced up at him.

"I was on the phone," she said. "My friend Sara called as I was walking in the building."

"Uh huh, and what time was that?"

She glanced down at the phone in her hand. Blinked at it, confused, then pressed her thumb to the button to unlock it. A few taps and she looked up again. "Nine thirty-eight," she said.

"Okay, good. How long were you on the phone?"

She shrugged. "The length of time it took to cross the lobby, ride the elevator up, and unlock my door. Almost as soon as I got inside I noticed shit was off."

Carisi led her to the open doorway of her apartment. "What did you notice first?" he said, pen poised above his pad.

"The smell," Olivia said, her small nose wrinkling in distaste. "Cologne I didn't recognize. And—something else. Body odor? I don't know. Maybe I'm misremembering that part. I am sure about the cologne, because it smelled cheap."

"That's good. Do you think you'd recognize it if you smelled it again?"

Her hands lifted in a shrug. "I don't know. It seemed…generic. Like something from the drug store."

He nodded and scribbled something. "Okay, what next?"

"Um…" She glanced around. "I walked toward the kitchen. I could see the dishes there. Do you know how adamant I was about getting a place with a dishwasher? I never leave my dishes in the sink."

"Did you check in the fridge? See if anything was missing from there?"

"No, I haven't yet."

"Okay, we can do that later. Let's keep going. What next?"

She waved toward the living room. "The couch. That pillow there in the corner. I always set it up like the other, and when I came in it was leaning against the arm. And the blanket. I fold it up because Baloo likes to—oh. No. I guess the  _very_  first thing I noticed was that Baloo didn't come to greet me at the door."

"Baloo," Carisi said. "That's your cat?"

"Yeah. He's a Norwegian Forest Cat. It means  _bear_ , like in  _The Jungle Book_."

He grinned a little. "Yeah, the bear necessities."

"Exactly," she said, a glimmer of a smile flitting through her eyes. "He acts like a jerk, but he's really sweet, and he always greets me when I come home."

"But he wasn't there, the apartment smelled weird, and stuff was out of place."

"Right," she said, grimacing. "So then I went into the bedroom." She walked that way hesitantly, and he followed her through the doorway. "Um, I…I heard Baloo in the closet and let him out. Then I noticed my, um." She swallowed hard and raised a shaking hand to her forehead.

"You need a minute, Ms. Gable? We can take a break."

"No, it's—it's stupid to be this upset. Right? I'm not hurt. Baloo's not hurt. I mean, he just drank some OJ or something and sat on my couch and stole some panties and jerked off on my bed what's the big deal?" She said this last bit all in a rush and pressed her lips together in a tight line. Her eyes shone with tears, but she managed to swallow them back.

"Don't say that, Olivia," he said, stooping a little so that he didn't loom over her. "Somethin' like this, it's traumatic. You're lucky you or your cat weren't hurt, but that doesn't mean you don't get to be upset or feel violated. You be as upset as you need. It's okay."

"Okay," she said after a moment. Paused to clear her throat. Her eyes flicked to his face and she managed a tiny smile. "Okay, anyway, I noticed the drawer open, and it had clearly been rifled through."

He glanced at the underwear drawer, quickly making note of the silks and lace. Huh. Fancy panties.

"That's, uh." She smiled again, wryly, as though reading his mind. "That's my  _date night_  drawer. I have a much more ordinary drawer right above it. I guess maybe he went through that one, too, but I haven't checked."

He didn't mention that she would have to do it, because she knew. Over the next several days, weeks even, she would be checking and re-checking everything she owned, looking for signs of the faceless intruder.

"Is that when you noticed the bed?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle and his posture non-threatening.

"Yeah," she said. "I found Baloo in the closet and noticed the drawer. I grabbed the cat and…well. Saw the bed. The, um. Mess. Obviously I freaked out. I called 911, and the operator told me the cops were on the way. She suggested I go sit with a neighbor until they got here. I went next door to Alan's, and that's where I've been ever since."

"That's good. That's real good, Olivia. You didn't touch anything and you didn't disturb the crime scene. CSU can probably get some real good prints."

"And DNA, right?" she said, tilting her head toward the bed without looking at it. "From the, uh…stuff?"

"Yeah." He flipped his pad shut and tucked his pen back in his pocket. "Listen, you should know—you're not the first woman this guy has done this to."

She stared at him. "What?"

"Yeah. There've been three break-ins prior to this one. He's never taken underwear before, or stayed to have a snack, but the masturbation element is the same."

"Jesus Christ," she said. "Four times? He's done this  _four times_? Like some sort of disgusting, serial…come-and-go?!"

He bit down hard on a laugh. That was pretty good, even if it didn't rhyme. "Uh, um. Yeah, I guess. Somethin' like that. So, listen, have you noticed anyone hangin' around recently? Followin' you? Maybe a face you've seen more often than normal outside the building, or at your gallery?"

"Honestly, I…" She thought it over, slowly shaking her head. "I don't pay that much attention. And this time of year everyone's all bundled up in hats and scarves. I'm sorry; I really haven't."

"That's okay. Give it thought over the next couple days. Somethin' might come back." He pulled his pen out again. "The officer outside said you were on a date when this happened. Could you give me a name? A phone number, maybe?"

"Sure. You might know him, actually, though I guess it's a big city. He's a Manhattan ADA? Name's Rafael Barba."

Sonny almost dropped his notebook. " _Barba_?" he said. "You were on a date with  _Barba_?"

Surprised, but not, by his shock, she ducked her head to hide a laugh. "I guess you do know him. Yeah, I do volunteer work at his mother's charter school. I teach art enrichment? Anyway, she set us up. Had some crazy idea we'd be perfect together." Olivia rolled her eyes. "No one's been that wrong since the last time someone tried to invade Russia in the winter."

"Uh, well." Carisi found himself in the awkward position of wanting to defend Barba. "He's kinda…he grows on you, I guess. He can be short, but he—I've been goin' to law school. Fordham, at night, and he's really helped me out, lemme shadow him and stuff. He didn't have to do that, and he wasn't real happy about it, but he did it anyway. He's, uh. He's solid. A good guy, and great at his job."

Her mouth quirked. "Maybe you should date him, Detective."

"Yeah, right." Dimples flashed as he grinned and blushed. "We work together, so that's not a real great idea."

She studied him a moment, her expression so neutral he couldn't read her at all. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Nah, you didn't. Just don't say anything like that around my partner. She won't ever let it go, and I gotta see her every damn day."

"Deal." She frowned and looked around the room. "How much longer do you think they'll be? Will I get my apartment back tonight?"

"You sure you don't wanna stay with that neighbor? Or in a hotel? It's gettin' late, and you'll wanna clean up after everyone's gone."

She chewed her lower lip as she thought it over. "I don't know. At first I said no, I was going home tonight no matter what. But the longer I stand here…" She gave a restless shrug. "Alan offered me his guest room. I might take him up on it."

"Wouldn't be a bad idea. If you wanna come down to the station with us and make an official statement tonight you can, or you can come in first thing tomorrow. Up to you."

"I—shit. Tonight, I guess. Let's get it over with."

"It can wait," he said, his brow furrowed in concern.

"No. I want to do it now."

"Okay. Let's go get my partner. She's gonna  _spit_  when she finds out you were on a date with  _Barba_."


	3. A Flirtation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia discovers a possible lead on her case, and she shares it with Carisi. Things get cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the pizza thing mighta been Lynn's idea, but I don't remember for sure.

It had been two days since the break-in at Olivia Gable's, and they were no closer to catching Herky Jerky than they'd been before. The DNA wasn't back yet, of course, and neither were the fingerprint results. The building's security cams were on the fritz (something that horrified Olivia when she found out; they were part of why she'd chosen that building in the first place), so they had nothing there.

Liv encouraged them to check in with the previous victims, see if they'd remembered anything new or had seen anything suspicious since their break-ins.

Nothing. Big fat bunch of dead ends.

"He's got to fuck up sometime," Rollins said. "How did he luck out with the cameras in the latest vic's building?"

"Maybe it wasn't luck," Fin said. "Maybe he knew they were out. Stalked her ahead of time."

"It would make sense," Carisi said. "That's how he knew to be there during that real small window she was gone."

"Yeah, but if he knew she had a date, or that she was going to be out that night, how did he know to clear out so fast? Two hours? It can take longer than that to get a goddamn cab sometimes," Rollins said.

"Maybe he just didn't wanna stay long." Carisi took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. "Maybe he never planned to be there longer than an hour or so. I mean, we got no idea how long he  _was_  there. He ate some cookies, drank a glass of milk, looked through her underwear, and masturbated."

"A normal Saturday night at Chez Carisi," Fin remarked.

Carisi rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the comment. He was the new kid: constant heckling was par for the course, and he was used to it by now. He kind of liked it, really. If your squad didn't give you shit, your squad probably didn't give much of a damn about you. He'd spent too long as the "annoying new guy we can't wait to transfer out of here;" he knew the difference.

Rollins stole a chip off his desk and then made a face. "What the fuck are these, Carisi? They're green."

"Kale chips! Try it. They're good."

She set it back down with a little grimace and wiped her hands. "We've gotta talk about your diet sometime. I worry."

"What?" He blinked big, innocent blue eyes. "That I'm healthy?"

"That you're so skinny because you eat bean sprout and hummus sandwiches and fucking  _kale chips_!"

"You never complain about my food when I'm cookin' it for you," he tossed back.

Fin's brows shot up and he leaned forward in his chair. "Now things're gettin' interestin'. Amanda?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but Carisi held up his finger to stop her as his phone buzzed. He recognized Olivia's number. "Hang on, sec. It's the latest vic."

He stepped away from his desk to answer. "Carisi."

"Detective Carisi? Hi, it's Olivia Gable…from the, um. The thing. The break-in."

"Of course, yeah. How you doin', Olivia?"

"I'm…okay, I guess. All things considered. Have you gotten any…leads? Or whatever? Is that really the way people talk? I watch a lot of cop shows, but I've never actually dealt with anything like this before," she said in a nervous rush.

He grinned. Glanced over his shoulder to note that Fin and Rollins weren't paying him any attention. Good. He leaned against the counter that held the coffee machine, one arm crossed over his stomach. "Yeah, I guess. Mostly. And I'm sorry, but no. We're still waitin' on forensics from your apartment."

"Hm. Well…I kind of figured. You said you'd call if you found anything, so…"

"Yeah, and I promise you I will. Anything at all, you'll be the first to know," he said.

"That's great, but listen…I might be able to help. I mean, I'm not sure, but…" She cleared her throat. "Do you think you and Detective Rollins could come by my gallery this afternoon? I have something I'd like to show you."

"About the case?" The second it was out of his mouth he rolled his eyes. No, dumbass, about  _art_. Of course about the case.

"Um…yes. About the case. It's some photographs…I'm not sure, but I think I might have taken a few pictures of him."

That got his attention. He straightened up, frowning. "Seriously?"

"Like I said, I'm not sure. But if you could come by this afternoon, I could show you."

"Yeah, yeah, definitely. Detective Rollins has court at two, but I can stop by around then."

She let out a long breath. "Two sounds perfect. Thank you, Detective."

"Sure, Olivia. I'll see you in a few hours."

* * *

 

"Detective Carisi, I'm Ms. Gable's assistant. She's with a client at the moment. Would you care to wait in her office, or peruse the gallery?"

He glanced around, pocketing his badge. "I'll peruse," he said.

"Wonderful. May I offer you something while you wait? Water, coffee, tea?"

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though."

The slender young man nodded. "If you need anything, I'll be at the desk up front."

"Great. I'll come find you." Carisi offered him a brief smile and wandered off, deeper into the gallery. Currently there were two exhibitions: black and white photos punctuated by splashes of color, and some weird abstract paintings. He studied each of the photographs carefully, entranced by the small, everyday moments the photographer captured. He grinned at a group of young girls, all in colorful hijab, playing one of those clapping games his sisters loved as kids.

"That one's my favorite," a familiar voice said from behind him.

He studied it a bit longer before turning to face her. She was dressed hipper than she'd been the other night, in a chic black blazer and trousers. No blouse underneath. Tall black heels with red soles. Hair smooth and bright as it fell around her shoulders. He glanced back at the photo to avoid staring at her too long.

"They remind me of my sisters," he said. "I've got three, all older. I mean, they're Italian Catholic, from Staten Island, and these girls aren't, but it's the same." He shrugged, blushing a little. "Kids are the same everywhere, I think."

"People, at heart, are the same everywhere. We all want the best for the people we love. We want to be safe, have food to eat and a home to live in." Her eyes drifted to the picture. "Those girls want to go to school, go shopping, play sports, gossip, whatever. Learn and grow and one day do amazing things. Just like your sisters did when they were that age."

She gave a brief shake of her head and her gaze focused on him. "I'm sorry. You're not here to talk art or politics. Thanks for coming by."

"Yeah, no problem. And I don't really mind talkin' art or politics, either."

Her mouth quirked. "Noted. Follow me to my office, Detective. I'll show you what I found."

He fell into step behind her, being careful not to notice the way her trim black slacks hugged her ass as she walked. He had no interest in Olivia Gable's ass. She was a vic, and sure she was cute and all, but it was definitely better not to notice things like a victim's ass.

"This is a real nice space you got," he said, largely to distract himself. "But, uh, who's Jameson?"

Her eyes flicked to the logo and she smiled back at him. "I am. Olivia Jameson Gable. I liked the sound of  _Jameson on Franklin_  better than  _Gable on Franklin_."

"Huh. Yeah, it's a good name. And I like that little red bird on your sign."

"That was my grandpa's idea. It's from his family's crest. He's Scottish," she said, as though that explained everything.

It pretty much did.

"He said it would bring me luck and success."

"Has it?" Sonny said.

"I think so. Though I think hard work brings more success than luck. This way, Detective."

They passed through a storage area and a tiny break room before she turned and paused before a dark wooden door. She unlocked it and let him in ahead of her.

The office was neat as a pin, which didn't surprise him after seeing her apartment. There were several prints (and maybe a few originals) on the wall, most from artists he didn't recognize. But he paused in front of one and shook his finger at it.

"Hey, I got this same one at my place," he said, turning toward her with a grin.

It was a print of Marc Chagall's  _The Dream_. In it, a winged figure flew over a sleeping, blue-tinted village. In the foreground a man and a woman sat on a bed. They were both fully clothed, and the man leaned his forehead down to rest against the woman's hair. A chicken watched them from the right; Olivia had always enjoyed that odd touch of whimsy in an otherwise serious painting.

"Oh yeah? Hm. Chagall, huh? I wouldn't have pegged you as an expressionist man."

"Nah, I like it. The couple seem so…tender, I guess. It's an intimate moment, but it's not sexual. And the angel's overhead, watchin' out for 'em. It's all quiet, everybody asleep, but they're there, together." His dimples flashed as he shot her a grin. "Plus I like the chicken."

She laughed. "I always liked the chicken too."

"So, just outta curiosity," he said as she stepped behind her desk and opened her laptop, "how exactly would you peg me?"

Her head came up fast, her eyes widening just a little, and after a long quiet moment she gave a low, soft laugh. "I guess I hadn't pegged you at all, Detective Carisi."

"Good," he said, the tension leaving his shoulders. "I usually like dinner first."

She lifted a brow, her bright green gaze and smooth face betraying nothing. Finally she cleared her throat and ducked her head back to the computer on her desk. "I'll keep that in mind," she said with the hint of a smile.

This was why Carisi needed Amanda: she kept him from doing stupid shit like making pegging jokes with a woman he not only just met, but who was also a victim. He wanted to apologize if he'd offended her, but he thought that would just make things worse. She didn't seem offended; more amused than anything; and that was what he'd been going for.

"Uh. So." He tucked his hands in his pockets. Pulled them out again. Grabbed his pen just to have something to fidget with. "What did you find?"

"Ah, well. Maybe nothing. I don't know. Come around here so you can see."

He shuffled nervously around her desk and behind her, peering over her shoulder at the laptop's screen. This close, he couldn't help but notice how nice she smelled. Not like perfume, exactly—it wasn't as strong as that—but maybe lotion or her shampoo. Citrusy and spicy, with a hint of mint.

"It's funny you were studying the photos outside. Photography is sort of a pet hobby of mine. I'm not very good, but I keep trying. I spend a lot of weekends at the park, or evenings after work just walking around the city snapping pictures. Maybe one out of a hundred is worth the effort," she said with a self-deprecating twist of her lips.

"I doubt that."

"Hmm. That's sweet, but you haven't actually seen them yet." She waved a hand. "Anyway, I was looking through a group I took earlier this week—like, Monday through Wednesday—and I kept noticing…"

She clicked on a picture to enlarge it, and circled her mouse pointer around a figure in the foreground. His face wasn't clearly visible, but he wore a red beanie and dark peacoat. Navy, maybe? Carisi couldn't quite tell.

Olivia flipped to the next and pointed him out again. Then again. And again.

"Okay, so, these are all in the same area on the same day. Just a coincidence, right? He's walking around and happens to get in a bunch of my frames."

He nodded, following her line of reasoning. "I'm guessin' you see him again."

"Yep," she said. She swapped the folder for another one, dated the next day, and opened the first file. "Look. You still can't quite see his face, but that's the same hat and coat. I know it is. And look at the way he's standing. Kind of…bowlegged? And the wide shoulders. It's the same guy." She opened several more from that day, pointing him out over and over.

"Seems weird that even if it's  _not_  the same guy, he's just hangin' around all your pictures," Carisi said. "Two different guys who like to loaf on the sidewalk? Nobody else in these appears so many times."

"Exactly. They're not, like…people lounging somewhere. They're walking. Moving. But there he is. Hovering."

"Did you see him in any others?"

She shook her head. "Not that I can find, but there're so many. Sometimes I just set my timer and let it shoot." She sighed, running a hand through her coppery hair. "I didn't notice him at the time. Not at all. But now it's like he's everywhere. How could I have missed him?"

"Hey, don't do that. Don't blame yourself. None of this is your fault. That guy blends in. Hat, dark coat. Just another guy bundled up for winter. If you didn't have all these photos, and him in so many of 'em, there's no way you would've noticed him at all. He's dressed to not be noticed."

She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered once, hard. "God. How long has he been following me?"

"How far back did you look?"

A brief, restless shrug. "Not any further. I got too weirded out."

"Okay. That's fine, Olivia, really. You findin' this is a huge help."

"Is it?" She looked up at him, searching his face carefully. "You can't even really see him. There's no way you can ID him from these."

"Nah, not from these, but look. Now we know where he was at these times on these days. We can look at traffic cams and security cams from businesses around there. They might've gotten a good shot of him. He was avoidin' your camera, but he couldn't avoid all of 'em."

Her expression brightened. "Oh! I didn't think of that." She smiled, a dimple in her chin peeking through as she did. "That's why you're the fancy NYPD Detective and I own an art gallery."

"Hey, gotta have art galleries. Otherwise what's the point of havin' cops?"

Her smile deepened, and she glanced away. Her teeth sank into her lower lip for a second, and then, as if coming to a decision, she looked up again. "Have you had lunch yet?"

He blinked, surprised. "It's two-thirty."

"Yes, it is," she said, her tone bland.

"I mean—I ate a few hours ago. At lunchtime."

"Ohhh, lunchtime. Right. Sometimes I get busy around here and forget things like that." She sighed. "It's too bad. There's a great pizza place around the corner."

"Oh yeah?" He narrowed his eyes. "What makes it so great?" A true pizza connoisseur, Dominick Carisi, Jr. was not going to take the word of someone named  _Gable_  about great pizza.

"Whoa, okay, Mr. Italy. Calm down. Possibly you wouldn't like it. It's sort of arty farty."

"Never woulda guessed, with all the artist types around here. What defines pizza as  _arty farty_?"

She held back a laugh at the way he pronounced it: punching down the r's like they'd personally offended him and giving the a's way more weight than they'd earned. God, he was pure New York Yankee through and through. If he turned out to be a Mets fan she would feel personally betrayed—and that was coming from someone who hated the Yankees just on principle.

"The toppings, I guess," she finally said. "Shit like goat cheese and broccoli."

"Goat cheese?" he said. "I love goat cheese on pizza."

"Really?" She gave an amused shake of her head. "You are just full of surprises, Detective."

He blushed and fiddled with his pen. "You can call me  _Sonny_  if you want."

"I think I'll stick with  _Detective_ ," she said. "I like the way it rolls off my tongue. Detective Carisi."

His eyes drifted down to her mouth without him even thinking about it. It was pure reflex. Her lips were full, soft-looking, and painted a warm, rosy red. Behind those lips was a tongue. A tongue his name rolled off of, apparently.

Oh geez.

His tie suddenly felt too tight, but he resisted the urge to step away from her. He didn't want to make the moment awkward. Instead he smiled a little. "What else is good there? Besides the goat cheese."

Another brief lift of her brow before her expression smoothed. "I like the kalamata olives and salami, personally. With fresh mozzarella and goat cheese. Sometimes I add fresh garlic if I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"That sounds real good," he said, his voice soft.

"Mmhmm. It's so good. Just the right mix of salty, creamy, and spicy."

He licked his lips. Jesus, was he drooling over the pizza or the girl? He had no idea.

Now it was his pants that felt tight and he needed to get the hell out of here.

"I gotta get back to work," he said. "Otherwise I'd stay for a slice."

"Too bad, Detective. Maybe another time."

"Yeah, definitely. I'll keep it in mind." He cleared his throat and finally managed to step back. "So, listen, if you get me a copy of all those pictures, I can have our guys look through 'em to see if he's in any more. Go back maybe…two weeks." That was how long it had been since the last break-in.

"Sure, it'll just take a sec." She sat down in the desk chair and dug in a drawer until she found a thumb drive. A few clicks later and the files were transferring.

"Uh, so…I guess since Mrs. Barba set you up with, uh. Barba. You aren't seeing anyone."

"Are you asking me out, Detective?" she said with an amused tilt to her mouth.

He felt the tips of his ears burning. "No! I mean—you're very…that is…I might, if I weren't—and you weren't—but as it is—I mean, if things were different—"

She took pity on him and lifted a hand. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

"I was just askin' because if he's been followin' you, he would've seen you with a boyfriend…or, uh…girlfriend. And you might wanna warn 'em. That's all."

"Good point," she said, frowning. "No, I'm not seeing anyone. The gallery keeps me busy, and when I'm not here I'm either volunteering or trying to carve out some alone time. I only went on the date with Mrs. Barba's son because she's such a nice lady and seemed so enthusiastic about it."

The computer gave a soft beep. She tugged the flash drive from the port and offered it to him. Her look was steady and cool, but something in her eyes burned. "If things were different, I would definitely say  _yes_."

He let his thumb brush across hers as he took the drive from her. Her skin was as soft as it looked. "Good to know," he murmured.


	4. Pizza with Sonny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Carisi apparently delivers pizza now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel terrible, but I absolutely cannot remember the author of the fic I reference in this chapter. I read it on tumblr and it was a Barba/reader fic, and if anyone can point me in the right direction I'd appreciate it.
> 
> Smut ahoy!

Olivia picked up her wine glass and took a sip, shaking her head and trying not to laugh. "No, Sara, I told you: I'm not interested!"

"Okay, then mind if I have a go? Because I've been doing some more Googling…"

"Oh God," Olivia said. "You fuckin' snoop."

"Shit yeah. And it's not snoopy. You're being stalked, babe. It's my job as your best friend to check out everyone new in your life."

"Including a Manhattan ADA?"

"Especially a Manhattan ADA. Lawyers, man." In her own apartment, Sara took a long drink of wine and grinned at Olivia. "Okay, wanna know what I found?"

She sighed, glaring at her friend through the FaceTime connection, and at last nodded. "Lay it on me, worry wart."

"It's good shit. Look, apparently he's got some, like… _following_  on the internet.  _Manhattan's Sexiest ADA_  and shit.

The messaging program on Olivia's computer binged several times as Sara's links poured in. She clicked the first one and burst out laughing. "Oh my God! This is…Sara, this is  _porn_!"

"Not just porn, o friend of mine: porn specifically focusing on his hands. There's also sites dedicated entirely to his clothes. There's one where the blogger is super interested in being choked by either his ties, his belt, or his suspenders. It is a dirty, dirty online world, and apparently Rafael Barba is a dirty, dirty boy—at least in fantasy."

Olivia clicked on an entry and stared in fascination. She couldn't imagine fussy, uptight Rafael Barba…doing this stuff. Or…Jesus,  _saying_  this stuff! Some of it in Spanish, which was admittedly very sexy. Thanks to her work at the gallery, Olivia spoke four languages, three of them fluently, and she'd never been sure if that had helped or hindered her life-long language kink.

"Holy shit," she whispered as she read one about imagining "Barba spanking you for the first time." There was spanking, of course, and a belt strangling scene….

"Wow."

Sara giggled and jabbed a finger toward her webcam. "Look at you! You're blushing! You're blushing over ADA porn!"

She quickly clicked out of the tab and gulped down the rest of her wine. "I am not. I've just had too much to drink."

"You've had like two glasses." Sara sighed and ran a hand through her dark hair. "How long's it been since you got laid?"

"Ugh. I don't wanna even think about it. Way too long."

"You should. It'll help with your stress levels."

Olivia shifted and poured the last of the bottle into her glass. "I'd rather not get anyone involved in my life right now. Detective Carisi suggested—"

"Detective  _Carisi_ ," Sara said with a grin. "Now there's a cutie! Long and skinny. With dimples. You know he came by to question me the other day? Wish he'd stayed longer.  _Questioned_  a little harder."

"Don't. Start. God you're incorrigible."

Sara laughed again, completely unrepentant, and changed the subject back. "Barba was really that bad huh?"

"I think he's one of those guys who thinks he's hot shit because he went to Harvard. I mean, Jesus, I went to Harvard too." In fact, Olivia had a BFA and MFA in Art History from NYU and an MBA from Harvard. One does not brave the cut throat art scene of New York City without having one's bonafides securely intact.

"Like it's hard?" Sara said.

"Honestly," Olivia said with a brief smile. "Fuck, I should go. It's almost eight and Baloo and I are starving."

"Feed the beast, baby girl. Then go get laid," Sara said with a wink.

"Go live your vicarious lawyer fantasies through someone else. I'm busy." She didn't bother to say goodbye; they never did; and instead disconnected to the sound of Sara's laughter.

Olivia sat for a moment, indecisive. Baloo, having heard his name, rubbed against her legs. She gave him an absent-minded pat on the head as she furtively clicked one of the links Sara had sent. She wanted to read more about spanking and belts….

She remembered the case he referenced, vaguely. Headlines about the new Manhattan ADA and his splashy court theatrics. She hadn't connected those stories to the man she went out with the other night, but now, reading this, it clicked into place.

What didn't click—couldn't  _possibly_  click—was the idea of Barba acting anything like the man the writer depicted. No way, no how. He probably liked sex missionary, with the lights off, both of you partially clothed.

"Uptight son of a bitch," she muttered, sipping wine as she clicked to another story by the same writer.

She was in way too deep when the buzzer startled her so hard she almost spilled wine all over her laptop. She'd read several stories by that author and had moved on to others she recommended and now Olivia found herself…well, horny, to be frank, and appalled that it was inspired by goddamn Rafael  _Barba_  of all the insufferable assholes on the island of Manhattan.

Sara was right: she needed to get laid.

The buzzer went again and Olivia glared at it. Who the fuck was at her door this time of night? It was almost nine. She just wanted food, her vibrator, and sleep. Possibly not in that order.

Grumbling the whole way, Olivia stomped to the intercom and pressed the button. "Yes?"

"Pizza!"

She frowned, her heartbeat kicking up a notch or two. "Um, I didn't order any pizza. You've got the wrong address."

There was a pause, then a sheepish voice she recognized. "It's, uh, Detective Carisi. I thought—I got off work and was thinking about pizza, and I thought…sorry, I know it's late, and I didn't mean to scare you…"

Terrible idea. Don't do it, Gable. Say no. Send cute, long, skinny Detective Carisi home like a good boy.

"Come on up, Detective," she said. "I was just about to forage in my kitchen anyway."

She opened another bottle of wine (also a bad idea) and poured out two glasses. At the last minute she remembered to click out of the tabs she'd been browsing and, for good measure, scrub her internet history. She never wanted anyone to know what she'd been doing for the last hour.

Her doorbell rang a few minutes later, and she answered it with a smile. Carisi presented the pizza like an offering. "Goat cheese, olives, fresh mozz, and salami, per your request."

She took it from him, set it on the table, and tugged him inside by the tie.

His bright eyes widened in surprise, and she couldn't help but giggle at the expression. "Be honest, Detective: you didn't  _really_  come here for pizza, did you?"

"I like pizza," he said without much conviction.

"So do I. But honestly it's been a really long week, and I could stand to blow off some steam. You aren't married are you? Or in an otherwise committed and monogamous relationship?"

"Huh?" He blinked. "Oh. No, I'm single."

"Gay?" she said, though if he were then she would need to get her head examined, because he was definitely flirting with her in her office this afternoon.

"Nooo…I like women…"

"Okay then," she said. She still had his tie wrapped around her hand, and now she used it to drag him closer. She went up on her toes and kissed him, warm and firm.

He was so surprised he wasn't sure how to react. Kiss her back? Push her away? He was the one who'd shown up at her apartment like this. After their encounter at the gallery, surely this was exactly what he'd been looking for.

She pulled away, suddenly uncertain. "Detective? Did I—am I completely off base here? Because I really thought…" She trailed off, biting her lip. "It just seemed like, this afternoon…and now you're here…"

"Yeah, no…" He shook his head. A wayward curl fell across his forehead and she had to fight the urge to push it back. He gently untangled his tie from her grip. "I definitely—shit, Olivia. Yeah, I'm interested. Very interested. Just, you know. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be kissin' you."

"But you are here," she said, her eyes steady on his. She took a step closer, tilting her chin up further so she wouldn't drop his gaze. "You're here," she murmured. "There's gotta be a reason."

Carisi blew out a long breath and reached for her. His hands hovered, not quite touching, and he cursed. "If my lieutenant found out…"

Lifting a brow, she rested her arms on his shoulders. "I won't tell her if you won't. It'll be our little secret." She drifted closer still, until he could feel her warm, wine-scented breath along his cheek. "Our dirty little secret," she whispered.

That pushed nearly every button he had, and with a groan he gripped her hips and dragged her against him so that their bodies pressed flush together. Her arms tightened around his neck and he kissed her, rough and careless.

She grabbed his tie again and used it to drag him with her to the couch. Once they were there she loosened it and he pulled it over his head. His vest was next, though she regretted seeing it go; those tailored little vests of his were sexy as hell. She ran her hands up his chest, exploring his slender body through the material of his shirt. He felt…solid. Warm and good. She wanted that right now.  _Needed_  it.

He cupped her face in his hand and smiled enough to show his dimples. She kissed one, grinning, and his smile deepened. "You sure about this?" he said.

"Absolutely sure, Detective," she said. She grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head. Underneath she was braless, and she enjoyed watching his eyes go wide and starry.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "Holy goddamn shit."

"Nice mouth on you, altar boy," she said with a giggle.

He grunted, running his hand between her breasts and bending to kiss each peachy nipple. "Been a long time since I was an altar boy."

"Good. Right now I'm looking for a sinner, not a saint."

Smirking, he lifted her off her feet and kissed her, his tongue hot and demanding, his lips soft and sweet. "You're gonna get what you want, doll," he rasped between hungry kisses. "I promise."

She moaned softly, her fingers raking through his hair and trailing down the back of his neck. He could feel her nipples, hard against his chest, and he needed his clothes off, now. He set her on the couch, and she looked up at him with big, eager eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt.

"You gonna strip for me, sweet boy?" she purred.

"I won't ruin this by tryin' to dance. You'd kick me out in a heartbeat."

She reached for his belt, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and slowly undid the buckle. "I'm not kicking you out any time soon, sugar. You made me a promise."

He shrugged out of his shirt and she pushed his pants down to find him hard and straining against his boxer briefs. Licking her lips, she let her eyes trail down the silhouetted length of him, then glanced up with a wicked grin.

"Bad boy," she said. "Hard for me already? I've barely touched you."

He blushed, his chin dropping to his chest. "It's, uh. It's been a while. And you're—fuck, baby, you're pushin' my buttons!"

"Mmmm. Good to know." She lapped at him through the cotton of his shorts, and he let out a surprised little yelp.

"Fuck!" he breathed. "Shit, babe, that's—don't do that!"

"No?" she said. "You seem to like it. Take these shorts off and I'll do so much more."

"Not yet," he said. He dropped to his knees and dragged her closer, one hand fisting in her hair and the other pressed to curve of her ass. Her knees bracketed his ribs and for a long time they kissed, the heat and hunger growing as hands stroked skin and the rest of their clothes fell away.

She scooted back on the couch, beckoning him to follow her, but he hesitated. "Hang on, I think I got a condom…"

"I have some in the bedroom if you don't," she said. She petted the curve of his back as he bent to dig through his pants pockets.

"I change it out every month. I mean—I don't  _use_  it every month—just I change it out, because latex can break down in warm conditions, and in a pocket—it's a good condom. That's what I'm sayin'."

Her mouth twitched with amusement and she let him ramble. God he was so fucking  _cute_  she could hardly stand it. "I have an IUD," she finally said. "I trust you and your Boy Scout condom ways."

"Eagle Scout, actually," he said, puffing out his chest a little. "I organized the restoration of a big homeless shelter on Staten Island as my Eagle project."

She tickled his tummy and ran her nails lightly up his chest. "Of course you did. Sweet boy."

He blushed again, delighting her, and knelt between her knees. "I wanna—I wanna make you feel good, Olivia," he said, dipping to kiss her. "Wanna make you come so hard, pretty little bird."

She moaned against his mouth. His lips left hers to skate down the column of her throat; along the curve of her shoulder. His tongue skimmed her collarbones before his kisses turned rougher and more possessive. He found the dark freckle near her left nipple and he sucked it, hard, leaving a hot red mark when he moved on.

"Not where anyone can see," she breathed.

"I got you, doll. Don't worry."

He worked her tits with his lips and tongue and the bare scrape of his teeth. Soon her nipples felt swollen and tingly, her breasts achy, and she needed more. "Please, Sonny!" she said, her voice low and breathless. "Please!"

With a soft grin he moved back up to kiss her some more, and his hand slowly drifted down her belly. When his fingers brushed her lips they both gasped. "So fuckin' wet, baby," he rasped. "Is that all for me?"

Blocking out any memory of ADA porn and her earlier need for release, she nodded. "Every drop, sweet boy. Need you so bad."

His fingers slipped between her swollen lips to brush her clit. Slid down to her entrance and back again, over and over, until her hips rocked with every stroke and she moaned his name. "Fuck, don't tease me, don't tease!" she cried.

He pulled his hand away and sucked a finger into his mouth. Groaned at the taste, then offered her the other one. She licked it with a soft tongue, her eyes on his as she did. She loved watching his pupils get big as she swirled her tongue around his finger and slowly sucked it between her lips.

"Holy shit," he said in a strangled gasp. He took his hand back and fumbled for the condom, ripping the package and rolling it up the length of his cock.

She bit her lip in anticipation and reached for him, pulling him on top of her and wrapping her legs around him. He tugged them higher, so that her knees were almost to his shoulders, and pressed himself against her.

They were both panting, flushed, and his teasing had left her right on the brink. His eyes held hers and his forehead was crinkled with the intensity of his concentration when he slowly, slowly slid into her.

"Oh God!" she breathed, yanking him down for more kisses. He obliged, moaning, and ran his hands up and down her body. She loved the feel of them: big and gentle, with long, slender fingers and soft palms.

"Fuck me!" she whimpered in his ear. "Please, Sonny, fuck me! Don't go easy!"

He pulled back almost to the tip and thrust in again, harder this time. She nipped at his shoulder, an appeal for more, and with a grin he gave it to her: hard, deep thrusts, in a slow, driving rhythm that made her crazy.

"Sonny!" she whined. "Please! Faster, god, faster!"

"Not yet," he panted. "Not yet, baby doll." He tangled a hand in her hair to hold her head still as he kissed her, bit her full lower lip and moved on to lick and suck along her jaw. "Feel so fuckin' good," he said. "Taste so good. Pretty little red bird. Gonna fuck you so nice, sweetheart."

"Yeah!" she said. "Yeah, yes, please!"

Her voice was high and shaky, breathless and desperate, and he wanted to keep teasing her…but he couldn't. She felt too good, hot and wet and eager for him, and as his willpower dissolved he began to fuck her in earnest, exactly like she begged him to do.

"Sonny! Fuck, yes, fuck, like that!"

"Call me  _Detective_ ," he growled, fucking her even harder, faster, so goddamn deep she shuddered with every thrust.

"Detective!" she moaned. "Detective Carisi, fuck, you feel so good, don't stop, don't stop! Love your cock, your hands, your mouth!" Her thighs were shaking and the low flame in her belly had become a full-on bonfire. She was so fucking close she could taste it.

"Yeah, yes, like that, fuck, goddamn, baby doll, fuck you're so sweet, so fuckin' hot!" He dropped rough, artless kisses wherever his mouth could reach. His hips snapped against her while hers rose to meet him every time.

"Yes!" she cried. "Oh fuck yes pleasepleaseYES!" She trembled beneath him, her cunt squeezing him tight as the orgasm rolled through her. She came hard, suddenly, and he didn't let up.

"Good, baby?" he grunted. "That feel good? Tell me, little bird. Tell me how good I make you feel."

"So fucking good, Detective! My hero, sweet boy, fuck, New York City's finest don't stop, don't stop!"

"Oh Christ," he mumbled. "Oh Jesus."

"Bad little altar boy," she breathed in his ear. "Dirty little Detective Carisi. You came all the way down here just to fuck me. Just to get a taste of my sweet pussy. Didn't you?"

He gave a long, wordless groan and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. His thrusts turned sloppy, his pace stuttering. She dug her nails into his back and that tiny prick of pain took him over the edge. She whispered filthy encouragement in his ear the whole time, and when he finally fell still they were both boneless and breathless.

"Holy. Shit," he eventually managed between gasps.

Her laugh turned into a soft moan as he pulled out and tied off the condom. She already missed the weight of his lean body on top of hers, and the feel of him deep inside. There was a low, warm ache in her belly that made her wiggle with pleasure. She sat up and planted a kiss on his shoulder, then soothed the scratch marks on his back with a soft tongue.

He turned to her with a grin and wrapped his arm around her. "Was that…okay?" he said, his tone sweet and hesitant.

"More than okay, sugar," she said. "I had no idea you were such a bad little boy underneath that perfectly-tailored suit."

Another one of those adorable blushes. "I guess maybe I didn't either. I think you bring it out in me."

"Oops. Slutty temptress strikes again."

He kissed her nose. Her forehead. "I guess I was easily tempted. You're smart. Sexy."

"And you're my brave Detective Carisi," she murmured. "Slaying all my dragons, like the big, bad hero you are."

"Jesus, don't start that again. I need some down time."

She giggled. "Just seeing if it worked every time."

"Yeah, I guess so. Shit."

Smirking, she fell back onto the couch and stretched like a lazy, satisfied cat. "Go grab that pizza, Eagle Scout. You've helped me work up one hell of an appetite."

He leaned down to kiss first her mouth, then her nipple. "You eat the pizza, princess, and I'll eat you. How's that sound?"

"Such a good boy," she said, stroking his cheek. "I love the way you think."


	5. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia is called into the precinct to look at a photo lineup and runs into Barba.

Several hours later Olivia and Carisi were lying in bed together, her on her back and him on his side facing her, an arm draped across her stomach. After pizza and some amazing oral, she’d led him to the bedroom for vigorous, athletic fucking that shook the bed frame and probably disturbed her neighbors. Smiling at the memory, she stroked his arm, her fingers light, until he shivered.

“Tickles,” he said.

“Sorry, baby,” she murmured and kissed his nose.

“S’okay.” He stirred, stretched a little. “What time is it? I’ve got court early tomorrow, and class tomorrow night.”

“Hmmm. Almost one, I think.”

“Shit.” He gave her a regretful frown. “I should probably go.”

She’d been trying to figure out how to broach that exact topic, so she was relieved he was going to save her the trouble. “It’s okay,” she said. “I wasn’t planning for an all-nighter.”

“I can stay a little longer.”

“Good. Just a little bit.”

He settled down again. She idly toyed with his hair and pressed her lips to his forehead. “You know…” She trailed off, then laughed, uncomfortably.

“What?” he said, lifting his head so he could see her face. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No, not really. I just—I feel a little silly. You know I bought a brand new mattress?”

“Oh yeah? I thought it felt real comfy.”

She poked him in the shoulder. “I’m serious. After the—the break-in. I mean, there’s no way his…stuff…could get through a quilt, two blankets, a flat sheet, a fitted sheet, and a mattress pad, but…I just couldn’t sleep here. The cops took the quilt and I threw everything else out, and when I went to make the bed again I just stood here and…I guess I flipped out a little.”

His expression was pensive as he studied her. He went up on one elbow and pressed his free hand gently against her tummy. “There’s nothin’ wrong with that, Oll,” he said. “You went through somethin’. You’re allowed to freak out.”

She chewed her lip, her eyes trained on the ceiling. He could see the glint of tears there even in the low light. “That’s what you told me that night. But I felt so stupid, Sonny. He didn’t touch me. I never even saw him! But when I looked at that bare mattress and thought about making it up again and sleeping on it, it made me sick. I started crying and yelling. I threw away everything in my underwear drawer and went over to Alan’s to start mattress and lingerie shopping.”

“I meant what I said that night, and I mean it now. No, he didn’t touch you, but what he did, it’s still a violation. I work Special Victims, Olivia. That’s you. You’re the victim of a sex crime, and you got every right to be upset.”

She sniffled and turned to face him. “I don’t want to be a victim,” she said, her voice small.

His mouth quirked. “No one does, babe. But sometimes it happens. But we’re gonna catch him. I promise.”

“Yeah? You promise, Detective Carisi?”

“I do. You got nothin’ to worry about, little bird.” His hand had slid around to the small of her back, and now he used it to pull her closer. He kissed her, softly, and as the kiss lengthened it turned hotter.

“Have time for round three?” she whispered against his mouth.

“Time? Sure. Stamina? Maybe not.”

She laughed. “You’re young and strong, Detective. I bet I can get you interested.”

She pushed at his shoulder until he rolled on his back, then kissed her way down his body. His cock stirred with interest as she licked and bit his hipbones. His thighs. She looked up at him as she flicked her tongue against the head of his cock.

“Fuck, baby doll,” he breathed.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.” She kept her mouth soft, sucking him in and licking all up and down the shaft. He moaned, writhing beneath her, and she sucked a little harder. It was barely any time at all before he was rock hard and panting. She planted a little kiss on the tip and scooted up to straddle his thighs.

“Told you so,” she said.

“I never doubted you,” he replied with a grin.

She dug in the nightstand drawer for a condom. Ripped the package and rolled it up his length before lifting her hips and lowering herself onto him.

“Oh!” she gasped. She was a little sore, and not as wet as she’d been the previous two times, but the slight tug of pain felt good. She bit her lip and rocked a little, bracing both hands against his stomach for leverage.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so sweet!” he mumbled. “Love the way you feel around my cock.”

She started to move, slowly at first, until she was slick and open and ready. He squeezed her thighs. Her tits. Kneaded her ass and guided her up and down on him.

“So good, Sonny, you feel so good!”

“Don’t stop, doll, don’t stop!!” he moaned.

She didn’t, and in the end it was nearly three AM before he rolled out of her bed, fumbled for his clothes, and stumbled out of her apartment.

Which was why, when her phone rang at nine the next morning, she almost didn’t answer. She slapped around on the nightstand until she finally found it, then glared at the screen. Her expression cleared even if the fog in her head didn’t, and she managed to answer it with some degree of civility.

“Detective Rollins?” she said. “This is Olivia Gable. Is there some news on the case?”

“Morning, Olivia. We were actually hoping you could come down to the station and have a look at something for us. Our tech unit might have gotten a hit on the guy from your photos.”

Olivia sat up, sleep forgotten. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. It’s a little fuzzy, but we thought you could take a look, possibly see if you recognized him.”

“Absolutely! That’s great news, Detective. Um…I need to shower, so give me about an hour?”

“An hour sounds great. Detective Carisi is in court testifying this morning, so it’ll just be you and me.”

“That’s fine, Detective. Thank you for calling. See you in an hour.” She hung up and hopped out of bed—only to be stopped short by various muscles protesting the sudden move. “Ow,” she mumbled. “Jesus. You’d think I’d never spent the night fucking a pretty boy before.”

The insides of her thighs were raw and tender. The ache in her lower belly was stronger than it had been last night—no doubt thanks to Carisi’s long dick and penchant for deep fucking—and while there was a general warm, sleepy lassitude, like thick honey left in the sun, diffused through every inch of her body, there were also a few aches and pains. Sore muscles and stubble-burned skin.

She shivered in delight, reveling in the sensation, and made her way to the shower. All she needed was a good soak and she’d feel like a million bucks. Well fucked and ready to face the day.

* * *

Barba kept his head down, his face glued to his BlackBerry, the entire trip to the station. He didn’t want anyone engaging him in small talk, because inevitably it turned into something like “so I got this parking ticket…” or “my friend’s getting a divorce…”

Not that kind of lawyer,  _amiguito_. Leave me alone.

They never took the hint and never left him alone. And, really, that was all Barba had ever asked of this world: to be left the fuck alone to do his job. Especially during a week like this one. First, the ridiculous and pointless date his mother had insisted he go on; then he lost a case he’d thought he had a really good shot at winning (though New York juries were notoriously fickle and hard to read); and then, the  _pièce de résistance_ : there had been another break-in in the on-going Herky Jerky (yes, he was aware of the nickname; he hated it) case, and no one had called him about it.

Hence his visit to the precinct today.

The elevator binged and Barba thought it was safe to lower his phone. Immediately in front of him, to the point that he nearly ran into her, was a familiar petite redhead. He brought himself up short and bobbled his BlackBerry, nearly dropping it. She noticed him then, her eyes going wide, and he realized, despite the bizarre coincidence, she wasn’t there looking for him.

“Ms. Gable?” he said. “Are you lost?”

“Mr. Barba. I guess this means they haven’t told you.”

“Told me what?”

She sighed and grabbed his arm. Dragged him into the nearest empty room, away from the crowded hallway. He stared down at her hand on his coat, vexed, and when she let go he smoothed the camelhair with a frown.

“Oh your damn coat is fine. Please pay attention; this is important!” she snapped.

His eyes jumped to her face. She was glaring at him, her hands on her hips, and he wondered what the hell he had done to piss her off in the five seconds since nearly running into her. What a truly unpleasant and impossible woman.

“I always pay attention, Ms. Gable. Now what haven’t I been told?”

She studied him a moment, still scowling, but at last her expression smoothed. Finally she said, “The other night, during our…date…someone broke into my apartment.”

“Special Victims doesn’t usually handle robberies.”

“Nothing was stolen, except a few pairs of my underwear. He also—” She paused. She couldn’t believe she had to tell Rafael Barba about one of the worst, most humiliating experiences of her life. “He jerked off on my bed.”

His annoyance instantly thawed. He reached for her, lightly touching her forearm, before he pulled his hand back. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. I had heard there was a new break-in—I had no idea it was you. Are you all right? Is there anything you need?”

Her mouth fell open, and it seemed like forever before she managed to shut it again. Was this…compassion?! From ADA Rafael Barba? Mr. BlackBerry? “Um…I’m…coping. Detective Carisi keeps telling me it’s okay to be so upset, but I still feel kind of stupid.”

“Detective Carisi is exactly right, as unlikely as that might seem. There’s a reason this case is being handled by Special Victims,” he said, his voice gentle and his expression soft.

She looked away. Jesus, she couldn’t handle that soft, kind tone from him. It was so at odds with all the impressions she’d formed during their first encounter that she couldn’t possibly reconcile it. She found herself near tears all over again, because if someone like Rafael  _Barba_  was being so understanding, then maybe she really  _had_  been through something.

Clearing her throat, Olivia tried to pull herself together. “Um, anyway. I’m surprised they haven’t come to talk to you yet.”

“So am I,” he said, sounding perturbed again. “I’ll have to recuse myself from the case now, since I have a personal connection with one of the victims.” He eyed her. “As tenuous a connection as it might be. The new ADA will need to time to get brought up to speed. I’ll have to have a word about it with Carisi.”

“Carisi mentioned that they knew you when I told him your name. He didn’t say—that is—is this your…unit, or whatever?” she said with a vague wave of her hand.

“Yes. I handle most SVU cases. It’s easier to have one ADA handle as much of the workload from this unit as possible, since the cases are sensitive, and the victims need to be handled with extra care. Train one or two ADAs, and leave the rest prosecuting murder and drugs and robberies.”

“That makes sense,” she said. Her mouth quirked. “Wow, I totally understood every word of that. I guess it wasn’t so  _complicated_  after all.”

“Ah…” He had the grace to look slightly ashamed. “About the other night. I apologize. I was rude to you, but…my mother sets me up on these dates, and I never want to go. I’m a very busy man, and I don’t have time for the complications of a relationship. I discovered a long time ago it was easier to…”

“Act like an asshole?” she said when he trailed off.

He frowned. “I’m not sure that’s how I would put it.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Barba: it’s exactly how  _I_  would put it, and since I was on the receiving end of it, I think I would know.” She shook her head, exasperated. “You know, if you’d just talked to me. Said something like that. I own an art gallery. Do you know how hard it is to own a business in this town, much less one like that?? I work all the time. I don’t have time for a relationship, either. Or any interest in one. We maybe could have had a pleasant evening together with good food and conversation, then gone our separate ways.”

He mulled that over, his face creased in concentration. “If that’s the case,” he said at last, “why did you let my mother set us up?”

“For the same reason you do. She means well and she’s persistent as all hell. You can’t say no to that woman!”

Laughing a little, he ducked his head to hide it. He had a nice smile, she thought. Too bad he kept it so hidden. She wasn’t sure she’d seen it even once during the hour plus of their dinner together the other night.

“It’s true,” he said, interrupting her train of thought. “I’ve spent forty-six years trying.”

“Well, good luck with that. I’m sure when I see her tomorrow she’s going to have a few questions for me.”

“Tomorrow?” he said. “Why are you seeing my mother tomorrow?”

“It’s Friday. Art enrichment day at her school. I teach it.”

“Oh…” He gave a brief shake of his head. “That’s right. That’s how you know each other.”

“Mmhm. I rotate grades and try to hit each one at least once a month. Tomorrow is third graders.”

He winced. “Better you than me. I wouldn’t have the patience.”

“You would be surprised. It’s all in how you present it. Kids love art. It’s all just pictures, right? Find me a kid who doesn’t like to color! They ask the most amazing questions, come up with the wildest stories behind the paintings. Like, stuff an adult would never even  _consider_. It’s fascinating.” She glanced at him, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I tend to ramble when I get excited.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s rare to see someone so passionate about something.” He enjoyed the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. How she used her hands to illustrate her point. How had he not noticed any of this the other night?

_You weren’t paying attention, dumbass. Just wrote her off as another one of your mother’s failed projects_.

“I’m sure, with a Master’s from NYU, you could teach full time if you wanted.”

She froze. “How do you know that?” she said, her voice quiet.

“I…Googled your gallery,” he said. “Per your suggestion, I believe. The information was on your website.”

“Oh!” The tension drained out of her and she laughed. “I thought—hell, I don’t know what I thought. Sorry. I’m just kind of paranoid these days, with the…everything.”

“Yes. Of course. I understand.”

There was a quiet moment while they just studied one another. Memories of what she’d read the night before rose in her mind, unbidden, and she imagined that some of those authors would have her jump on him now and rip that damn tie—

_Jesus. Calm down._

She attempted a smile, but she knew she was blushing. He was attractive, okay fine, but that didn’t mean she was attracted  _to him_. She just had a good appreciation of aesthetics and a man who knew how to dress.

“Um, I should probably—”

“I’m sorry, were you on your way—”

They both paused and laughed a little.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Please.”

“I was just going to say I should get going. Detective Rollins called me this morning about a possible lead in the case. She wanted me to look at some photos. And I’m sure you’re on your way somewhere too.”

“That’s excellent news. I was—funny, I was going to speak with Lieutenant Benson about your case. Without knowing your involvement, of course. Instead I’ll need to tell her about the recusal.”

He sounded matter-of-fact, not at all miffed, but still she touched his arm, briefly, the same spot she’d grabbed to drag him in there. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barba. I hate that you have to do that on my account.”

“Don’t apologize, Ms. Gable. None of this is your fault. I’m sorry I won’t get to nail this bastard to the floor in court.” He shrugged, a slight grin tilting his mouth. “Oh well. I’ll just have to get my thrills vicariously. My colleague, ADA O’Dwyer, is excellent at his job. He won’t let this one slip through the cracks.”

“That’s good to know.” She hesitated a moment. Then, “Everyone here is very passionate about this case. I mean, compared to some of the stuff y’all deal with every day, it seems…I don’t know. Small potatoes?”

He brought a hand up to hover just above the small of her back and gestured toward the squad room with the other. “We don’t really believe there are any small cases,” he said as they walked. “Every case matters. Every  _victim_  matters.”

In truth, escalation was the main concern. They wanted to get Herky Jerky off the street before he graduated to assault or rape. But Barba wasn’t going to tell Olivia that. She had enough to worry about…especially since he might seek out an old victim rather than moving on to a new one.

She nodded at his explanation, but he wasn’t sure she totally bought it. She wasn’t stupid; she had to know she was still in a certain amount of danger.

“Thank you for saying that,” she said. “It means a lot, even if…” She trailed off. Shrugged. “Even if.”

“Try not to worry too much. These detectives are the best in the city, and they’re working hard on your case. No one wants to see this happen to anyone else.”

“Counselor!” Rollins called from her desk. She stood and started toward them. “I see you found my witness. Thank you for comin’ down, Olivia.”

“Sure, of course. I hope I can be of help.”

“And thank  _you_ , Detective, for informing me of my potential conflict of interest in such a timely manner,” Barba said, his tone so flat and sharp it could cut steel. “I happened to run into Ms. Gable in the hallway, and she told me the situation. Thankfully. So now I’ll talk to Liv and let her know I’m formally recusing myself.” He nodded first at Rollins, then at Olivia. “Detective, Ms. Gable.”

They watched him go with similar expressions of discomfort, and when Rollins turned back to Olivia, the redhead had to swallow a smile. “Well,” she said.

“Yeah. I can see why your date went so well.”

“Is he always like that?” Olivia said as they walked toward Rollins’ desk.

“Pretty much. Though, really, he’s not as bad as he seems. You just have to get to know him.”

“Right,” she said, doubtfully. “And I’m sure that’s an easy process.”

Rollins grinned, dimples flashing. “I didn’t say that.” She grabbed an iPad and tapped the screen a few times before handing it to Olivia. “Okay, there are five images. Go slowly, study each one, and tell me if you recognize anyone.”


	6. Dinner in Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucia invites Olivia to Sunday dinner (she's always schemin'), and she ends up telling Barba a lot more about herself than she ever intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is, as always, dedicated to my favorite girl.

The digital lineup had been a bust, and once Olivia finished studying each photograph and decided she didn't recognize any of the men pictured, Rollins showed her the image TARU was able to isolate from traffic cams around the area where Olivia had captured the guy in the red beanie. It was the same hat, but otherwise she couldn't tell much about the face. He looked generic. Any regular guy you might pass in NYC and not glance at twice.

She apologized, Rollins assured her it was fine, and she left. She didn't see Barba again, which was a relief.

Mostly.

Like ninety-nine percent of a relief.

Pretty much.

Overall it was an uneventful day of art deals and prepping her lesson plan for Friday. She didn't really do a formal  _lesson_ , per se, but it was always better to face fifty-plus small children with a plan.

When she stopped in to say hello to Lucia the next morning, the older woman was aghast over the break-in. "Rafi told me!" she said. "How awful. I'm so sorry, Olivia!"

Olivia assured her she was fine, but Lucia insisted she come to Sunday dinner. Olivia wasn't one to turn down free food, especially home-cooked Cuban food, so she graciously accepted.

"What can I bring?" she said.

"Don't bring a thing except your lovely self,  _cariña_ ," Lucia told her.

But of course Olivia stopped on the way to grab a nice bottle of wine and some flowers. She arrived five minutes early, as was her wont, and Lucia opened the door with a bright smile.

"Olivia! So glad you could come. Oh! Are these for me? I told you not to bring anything!"

The two women exchanged kisses, and Olivia handed over the bottle and bouquet. "I couldn't arrive empty-handed, Lucia. My mama raised me better than that."

"Of course she did, my dear. My goodness these are beautiful! Did you arrange them yourself?"

Olivia laughed. "Oh Lord no. I wish. I have a good friend who's a florist. She put it together for me. It's got, um…" She searched her memory, trying to recall the list Angelica had rattled off back at her shop. "Eucalyptus, dusty…farmer? Miller! Dusty miller. Silver something-or-other with a  _b_ , like  _bruin_  but not…and of course white roses, and white and purple anemones. Oh, and the little guys are paperwhites. I promised her I'd remember all of it, so if anyone ever asks…"

"You were flawless,  _cariña_ , never fear. Rafi, come in here and see these beautiful flowers Olivia brought!"

She froze halfway in the door.  _Rafi?_  As in, her son? Oh geez.

" _Que, Mami_? I couldn't hear you over the—oh. Ms. Gable."

"Mr. Barba," Olivia said with a stiff smile. Of course he was here. Of course Lucia hadn't given up after one measly date. Olivia should have known.

"What is this  _Mr. Barba_  and  _Ms. Gable_  nonsense? You two know each other better than that! Olivia, meet my  _rude_  son, Rafael. Rafi, meet the lovely Olivia. She volunteers at my school every Friday for art enrichment. The students just love her! She also owns a very successful gallery in Tribeca."

"Yes, Mami, I know. We've met," he said with exasperated affection.

"Good. Then stop acting like strangers. We're all friends here."

They exchanged awkward nods. "It's good to see you again, Mist—er. Rafael," she said, stumbling only a little.

"You as well, Olivia," he said.

He tucked his hands in his pockets to give himself something to do with them. She fiddled with the tail end of her scarf, only now noticing that Baloo had chewed half the tassels off the Burberry cashmere. Blushing, she tucked it under the coat's lapel and hoped no one else had seen.

Barba watched her face journey from nervousness to realization to mortification with amusement. He hadn't noticed the missing tassels until she did, but now that he had it was obvious. Surely moths hadn't gotten  _that_  industrious. And even more certainly, a woman like Olivia was unlikely to have moths in her closet.

Lucia's eyes darted between the two and she somehow managed to contain her triumphant grin. "Well!" she said, clapping her hands together. "Rafi, open that wine and bring our guest a glass. I'll see about the food."

He looked briefly panicked before the customary quiet descended across his features. "I'm fine in the kitchen, Mami. You stay out here."

"Nonsense. It's my kitchen, and my dinner. Bring Olivia some wine and  _be nice_."

Olivia handed over the bottle with an apologetic grimace. He dredged up a smile from somewhere and followed his mother to the kitchen. Olivia wandered around the living room, studying pictures of Barba through various stages of development. He was a cute kid: scrawny and chubby-cheeked, with messy hair and a big grin. There were none of his father, she noticed, and she wondered what the story was there.

He returned with two glasses of wine and started to pass her one, but then pulled it back as she reached for it. "Let me help you with your coat," he said, setting them on a nearby table.

"Oh," she said. "Right, thanks." She slipped it off her shoulders and he took it from her.

If he managed to get a brief, tiny breath of her scent, he ignored it. He didn't much care for citrus anyway, especially not when undercut with something spicy and intriguing….

He cleared his throat and handed her the wine. Neither of them spoke as they sipped, and he wondered just how unbearably awkward this evening was going to be.

"I'm sorry about this," Olivia said, as though reading his thoughts. "Your mother didn't tell me—I mean, she invited me on Friday, and I thought it would just be she and I. She, you know…"

"Insisted," he said at the same time she did.

She laughed a little. "Right." Her brow creased. "She said you told her about the break-in?"

"Ah. Not details, just that there had been one. I hope that was okay. She asked if we'd spoken again, since our…evening together…and I told her about our run-in at the station."

"So naturally she wondered why I was there," she said.

"Exactly. I assured her you were fine, just busy, but she worries."

Olivia looked away, her eyes scanning a wall of class photos from Kindergarten through twelfth grade. She smiled, shaking her head. "It must be nice," she said. "She loves you very much."

He glanced over his shoulder to follow her line of sight and couldn't hide a wince. "It is nice, but sometimes I wish it weren't so… _much_."

"She just wants the best for you. You're an only child, I'm guessing?"

"Mmhmm. So it's extra concentrated." He took a sip of wine. "And you? Any brothers or sisters?"

"Nope. Just me. I grew up in Virginia, on the Chesapeake. Left home before the ink was even dry on my high school diploma," she said with a wry twist of her mouth.

"That bad?"

She shrugged, studying the contents of her wine glass. "Not bad, exactly. Just…not what I wanted. My parents had my whole life planned out for me. My mother, especially." She bit her lip and her eyes flicked from side to side before she leaned in closer. "Just between you and me, on pain of death: I was a pageant kid."

He snorted out a laugh through his nose. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. From the time I was four years old. My last pageant was Miss Teen Virginia. If I had won I would've gone on to Miss Teen USA."

"Wow," he said, both impressed and amused. "What happened?"

"Umm…" Now that she'd started this story, she wasn't sure she wanted to finish it. She took a drink of wine and swirled the rest in her glass. "Well. I didn't win."

"I gathered that much. Come on, Gable. You can't only tell half the story. Why didn't you win? Did you fall? Forget your talent?"

She let out a breath and relented. "I was a little short for pageants by that point anyway. They prefer the girls tall and thin, not short and…" She made a self-deprecating gesture.

" _Built_?" he said, over-pronouncing the  _b_  and muffling the word in his wine.

She choked on a laugh, but then decided she'd misheard him. "However you want to put it," she said. "Anyway, my figure had less to do with why I lost than the fact that I got caught giving one of the judges a blowjob in a closet."

Now it was Barba's turn to choke. It was all he could do not to blow wine out his nose. "I guess—that would do it," he said, wheezing a little.

She smiled sweetly. "I  _really_  didn't want to win. Or ever compete again."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to fall?"

"Sure. But then my mom would've told me shake it off. Chin up! There's always next year or the next pageant or the next…whatever." She waved a hand. "As it was, I got banned from competing, a sleazy judge got outed as a sleaze, and my mother never mentioned pageants again. Also my football-captain boyfriend broke up with me, but that was just an added bonus."

"How old was the judge?" he said, the lawyer part of his mind taking over.

"Thirty. I was sixteen. He was gross. He hit on all the girls, and had a major reputation: don't find yourself alone in a room with Handsy Bill Peterson. But the committee wouldn't fire him because his dad was some bigwig."

He crossed an arm over his stomach and studied her through shrewd eyes. There was clearly more to this story than an indiscreet sexual encounter. "All the girls? Or one specific girl?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. "All of them. But…in particular, this girl…she was from the mountains. Sweet. Blonde." She sighed and gritted her teeth. "Young. The youngest girl in the competition. This guy…he made her think.…" She shook her head. "I don't know the details, but we were roommates, and she came back late one night. She was crying and wouldn't tell me what happened. Bill and I got caught the next day. He finally got fired, of course, and got charged with statutory rape. Unlike that sweet little girl from the mountains, I wasn't afraid to testify against the bastard. Some other girls came out of the woodwork once they heard.

"God," she said with another quick jerk of her head, "this isn't something I usually talk about. I don't know why I am now. I'd blame the wine, but this is my first glass."

He smiled, a musing expression that she couldn't quite read. She felt intensely uncomfortable. Wished she'd never brought it up. She wasn't kidding: her pageant years and how they ended were a taboo subject for her, and yet here she was spilling the whole thing to someone she didn't even  _like_. In his mother's living room.

"Um, anyway, that—"

"Kids!" Lucia called from the kitchen. "Dinner!"

Olivia had never been so relieved for an interruption. "Oops. Guess that's us."

"Guess so," Barba said. "Tell her I'll be right in. I'm going to wash my hands."

Olivia nodded and wandered toward the dining area, while Barba hurried to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and ran the water cold and hard. He splashed some on his face and stared at himself in the mirror.

She had set herself up as a victim of a known sexual predator to protect a younger girl. She had ruined an amazing opportunity—no matter how dismissive she was of the whole thing, pageants gave excellent scholarships—to help  _that_   _sweet little girl from the mountains_. Rash and foolish, maybe, but brave. One of the bravest, most foolish things Barba had ever heard of.

No matter what her reasoning, though, Olivia was a victim…and it explained her extreme reaction to the break-in, at least somewhat. He hadn't lied when he agreed with Carisi that it was normal to feel frightened and violated after such an experience, even without any contact with the perp.

But according to Carisi (as he told Barba when he asked, "just checking in for my mother's sake"), Olivia was deeply shaken. She'd thrown out her old bed and bought a new one, apparently.

Every victim's reaction was different, of course, but from the moment she'd told him on Thursday morning, Barba had had an odd feeling about the entire thing. Now he knew why.

And goddamn if he didn't admire the hell out of her for it.

* * *

Dinner went smoothly enough, though Barba was strangely quiet throughout the meal. Olivia kicked herself the whole time for telling him about Bill and the pageants. This was exactly why she didn't talk about it. He already disliked her; now he thought she was a cheap slut too.

Olivia didn't mind being a slut. But she drew the line at  _cheap_. As the evening wore on she became more and more annoyed. He thought she was a slut,  _fine_. She didn't give one God damn what Rafael Barba thought of her. Sure, he'd been a little nicer the last two times they'd talked, but the bar had been set pretty low.

If he wanted to be a dick and give her the silent treatment, that was just fine. She had no reason to talk to him ever again anyway.

He helped her into her coat at the end of the night, even going so far as to pull her hair free of the collar. She did not want his hands on her hair. Ever. His long fingers tangled in the curls of it, or his palms stroking it smooth….

She frowned, and when she faced him again he took a step back. Of course. Wouldn't want to catch slut cooties. "Well, Mr. Barba," she said, her tone chilly, "it's been an enlightening evening."

"It certainly has, Ms. Gable," he replied, his tone quiet. Then, apropos of nothing, "Your gallery is on Franklin in Tribeca?"

"Hence the name," she said.

He gave her a little half-smile. "Maybe I'll stop by one day. Take in the art."

"Don't go out of your way, Mr. Barba. Thank your mother again for me, will you? Goodnight."

The door shut in his face and he cursed himself for an idiot. He should have just asked her to lunch. Or dinner. No, lunch. Less pressure at lunch. Instead he'd stared at her all night like a tongue-tied dumbass and she was, rightly, furious by the time she left. He sighed, shook his head, and went to help his mother with the dishes.

If she never even thought about him again, it would be no more than he deserved.

In the cab on the way home she smoothed her skirt over her legs and blocked every single memory of the evening from her mind. Especially the thought of Barba's hands in her hair. If she needed hands in her hair that badly, she knew exactly who she could call. Biting her lip in anticipation, she fished her phone from her bag and dialed Carisi's number. "Hi there, Detective," she purred when he answered.

"Olivia," he said. She could hear the grin in his voice. "Everything okay?"

"Not at all!" she said, pouting.

The TV in the background went silent. "What's wrong, little bird? Can I help?"

"It's just—I'm all horny and alone. I'm so  _wet_ , Detective Carisi! And there's no one here to help me with it."

"Oh no! That sounds terrible, babe. Did you call 911?"

"Nuh uh. I called  _you_."

He laughed, a little breathlessly. "I can be there in half an hour."

She peeked out the window to see where she was. "Make it twenty minutes and I'll suck your cock."

There was a jingle of keys. "On my way, baby doll."

She hung up, a satisfied grin on her face, and didn't think about Rafael Barba at all.

* * *

They didn't make it to the bed this time. Instead they were sprawled out on the floor between the TV and the coffee table. Baloo walked across her leg, meowing indignantly, but she shook him off. Carisi lifted his head to smile at the annoyed cat, but he turned around and sauntered away.

"I don't think he likes me," he said.

"Don't take it personally. He doesn't like anyone."

"Hmm." He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. "He seems to like you."

"It took a few years. And I'm the one who feeds him; he's grumpy, not stupid." She turned toward him and ran her hand up his tummy to the center of his chest. "That was fun, Detective."

"Yeah, baby? You feel better?"

"Mmhmm. Much. Though…not completely. I think I'm gonna need a little more help from the NYPD."

"I'm here to protect and serve. In about twenty minutes. Give or take."

She giggled and kissed his nose. "I can wait."

He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her back for more kisses. When they finally parted they were both a bit breathless, and his lips were even pinker than usual. She brushed her thumb over his mouth and grinned. "Cutie," she said.

"Funny, I was thinkin' somethin' similar about you."

"Similar, huh?"

"Yeah. More along the lines of  _sexy_  or  _beautiful_ , but close."

"Hmm. Don't try to flatter me, sir," she said, but she was blushing.

"Just tellin' the truth." He studied her, his expression turning serious. "Oll, listen…if we're gonna keep doin' this, I'm gonna have to tell my lieutenant."

"This?" She eyed him. "What exactly do you think  _this_  is, Sonny?"

He sighed. He'd known it would tricky broaching the topic, but he hadn't expected her to get her hackles up quite that fast. "I got no illusions, babe. I know you're not interested in anything serious, and if I'm bein' honest…" He smiled. Brushed her hair off her shoulder. "I like you, Olivia. A lot. The sex is amazin', and you're fun to be with."

"But…?"

"But…I got work and school, and I don't really have time for a full-on relationship."

She blew out a long breath that took most of her tension with it. "That's good to know," she said. "I like you too, Sonny. But you're right: I don't want anything serious. Or even semi-serious."

He nodded. "Okay. That's good to know."

"So, what. I just call you whenever I'm feeling…needy?" she said. Her teeth sank into her lower lip with the last word and he felt his pulse kick up a few notches.

"Sure," he said. "We can do that."

"You wanna be my personal officer on duty?" she murmured.

"Christ, Oll, you gotta quit sayin' shit like that!"

"Why, baby boy?" She pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. "You seem to like it." Dipping her head, she nipped at his jaw. His throat.

"That's why. It's fuckin' killin' me, especially at work."

"Inappropriately timed boners?"

"Not yet, but I'm worried."

"Poor baby." She kissed him, long and slow, then stretched out on his chest, her hands folded under her chin. "So you really have to tell Lieutenant Benson about us? Even though we're mostly just fuck buddies?"

He ran his hands up and down her back, enjoying the feel of her velvet skin. "It's a personal connection. When we catch the guy, his lawyer could use it to throw out any of the work I did on the case. Especially the interrogation."

"God. I sure as fuck don't want that."

"Neither do I."

She frowned. "You won't be in trouble, will you? I don't want you to get in trouble because I couldn't keep it in my pants."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't keep my eyes off this luscious round ass, so it's just as much my fault," he said, cupping the ass in question and giving it a nice squeeze.

She wiggled on top of him and poked him in the arm. "I'm serious, Carisi. How mad will she be? Will there be some sort of…official thing? Like, a demerit?"

"Demerit? This ain't middle school, Oll."

"Sonny! I don't know what it's  _called_ , but I'm  _serious_!"

"Okay, okay," he said. He bit his lip to smother a laugh at her outraged face. "No, I don't think I'll be in any official trouble. She won't be thrilled with me or anything, but Liv's cool. She'll take me off the case and maybe slap my wrist a little bit, but she won't do anything that would hurt my career."

" _Liv_ , huh?" she said with a teasing grin. "So it's  _Liv_  now?"

"Uh…well, I don't really call her that so much, because she already outranked me when I met her, but…that's kind of her nickname."

"So that's why you call me  _Ollie_  instead."

"Yeah…and it's cute. Pretty little Ollie bird."

"Sweet little sunshine boy. My Eagle Scout." She wiggled again. Smirked. "Ooo. Twenty minutes, huh?"

He gave a modest shrug. "Give or take, I said."

"Give," she breathed. "As in  _give me what I need, Detective Carisi_."

He buried a hand in her hair and rolled them over so that he was on top. "Whatever you want, baby girl. I got all night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also there WILL BE Barba sex in this fic but it's a SLOW BURN so be patient. ;)


	7. The Sordid Tale of Bill Peterson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DNA results provide a surprising twist on Olivia's case, and Barba finds out she's bangin Carisi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you're new to my writing, you can find me on tumblr at lauramoon, or follow my writing blog at juiceinpanties. I run that with Lynn, aka hermankozik.

It was a day of dead-ends on the Herky Jerky case. Fin caught a subway flasher case, so Liv sent Carisi with him to check it out. They were just returning to the precinct when Rollins waved him down.

"Did you get my message?" she said.

He frowned and tugged his phone from his pocket. "Shit. No, I guess I didn't hear it. What's up?"

"We got the DNA back from the latest crime scene. Carisi: it doesn't match."

He stared at her. "What're you talkin' about?"

Rollins shook her head, blonde ponytail swinging. "The semen didn't come from the same perp as the other three break-ins. We're dealing with a copycat."

"Jesus." He sank down into his chair. Scrubbed a hand over his face. "The escalation. Or, what we thought was escalation. You think it's personal instead? Like this guy was specifically goin' after Olivia Gable?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I think it's possible. He read about the break-ins in the paper and decided it was time to make his move."

"We gotta tell Olivia about this. Warn her."

Rollins gave him a curious look. Something about the way he said the vic's name was oddly…personal. "I already called her," she said. "She's on her way down now."

"Good. That's good. I gotta talk to Liv."

He stood without another word and went to knock on Benson's office door. Rollins stared after him, nonplussed. What the hell? He looked incredibly shaken, like a rug had been pulled out from under him.

"Think he's bangin' her?" Fin said.

Rollins whipped around to stare at him. "Carisi? Banging  _who_?"

"Your vic. She's cute."

"No way. Fin, you're talking about Sonny Carisi, professional Boy Scout. He would never do that."

Fin lifted his hands in a shrug. "Just sayin'. That was a weird as hell reaction, and he ran awful fast to talk to Liv. Findin' out the perp targeted this victim personally would be a damn good reason Carisi would need to be taken off the case. If he were bangin' her, I mean."

Rollins just rolled her eyes and walked away.

Carisi, meanwhile, had been let into Benson's office, and he was trying to figure out how to tell her. He paced a little, until she told him to sit down and spit it out. He sat. Rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs.

"Did Rollins get you up to speed on the lab results?" she finally said.

"Yep. That's, uh, part of why I'm here. Listen, Loo, you know—you know I'd never do anything to jeopardize a case."

She took off her glasses and sat back, a crease appearing between her brows. "What's this about, Carisi?"

He took a deep breath. "The latest vic, Loo. Olivia Gable."

"I'm familiar with her, yes."

He rose again and ran a hand through his hair. "She and I—that is, uh…you gotta take me off the case," he said in a rush.

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingertips. "Carisi. Please, for the love of all that's holy, tell me you did not sleep with the victim."

There was a pause. "Can't tell you that, Loo."

"What the  _fuck_ , Carisi?!" she cried. "First Barba has to recuse himself because he went on a date with her—"

"In all fairness, his mom set that up and neither of them had a very good time."

"But at least that was  _before_  she was our victim!" she continued like he hadn't spoken. "Now you tell me that  _since_  the break-in you've slept with her?!"

"I didn't plan it, I swear! It just—happened." He blushed and looked down at his polished wingtips. "Twice," he mumbled.

"Don't give me details," she said with a wave of her hand. "I don't want to know. Just—you're on desk duty for the time being. Get out of my sight."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry." He tucked his tail between his legs and ran, nearly bowling Barba over as he passed him in Benson's doorway. "Sorry," he muttered again and kept running.

Barba stared after him, then glanced in at Liv. She looked…displeased, to say the least. "What was that about?" he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. He sat down in the chair Carisi had just vacated and offered her the extra latte he carried.

She took it with a grateful smile and sipped before she said, through gritted teeth, "Apparently Carisi is sleeping with our vic."

He froze. Carisi…and Olivia?  _Carisi_?! And  _Olivia_?! "You're kidding," he said on a breath.

"I only wish I were," she said. It seemed to register then that he was actually sitting there in her office. "What are you doing down here? The flasher case already? Fin and Carisi just went out on that one."

He took a sip of his own coffee to buy himself some time. "Ah…no. I just came to check on the progress of the break-in case."

"The break-in case. Aren't you  _off_  that one?" she said, her eyes narrowing.

"Well. Yes. Consider it professional interest. And O'Dwyer's in court this morning, so I figured I could pass along any new info you might have."

She was too tired to argue with him and decided to just take his explanation at face value. Clearly there was more to it than that, but between her detective sleeping with the vic and her ADA going on a disastrous blind date with her, Benson had had just about enough of the whole thing.

"There is something," she said, "and it's pretty big." She grabbed a file off her desk and slid it to him.

He flipped it open and frowned down at the page. A moment later he looked up at her, his eyes wide. "A different perp?"

"Mmhmm. Copycat, we think."

He slapped the folder shut and tapped it against his leg. "Was Ms. Gable specifically targeted, or just a victim of circumstance?"

Benson lifted a hand in a shrug. "We don't know yet. Rollins asked her to come in this morning so we could talk to her some more. Find out if there's anyone who might target her."

Barba licked his lips and took a thoughtful sip of coffee. "You should run the name Bill—or perhaps William—Peterson. He would be in his late forties, early fifties now. He got in some trouble about twenty years ago. Statutory rape charge in Virginia."

"What would a two-decades old statutory case have to do with all of this?"

"Maybe nothing," he said with an insouciant shrug. "Just run the name. And ask Olivia about him."

"Barba—"

"Liv." He rose and dropped the file on her desk, smiling lightly. "Trust me, yeah?"

"Fine," she said. She stood and stalked to the door. Jerked it open. "Fin. Carisi's off the most recent break-in case and you're on. Ask Rollins to get you up to speed. Rollins, I need you to run a name."

Fin and Rollins exchanged a look. "Whatever you need, Liv," Fin said. "We got you."

* * *

Carisi wasn't around when Olivia got to the precinct, and Rollins and Benson spoke to her instead. They told her about the DNA results, then Benson asked her about Bill Peterson.

It was a name she hadn't heard in a almost two decades—until last night. The only place she could've gotten it was from Barba. Fucking  _Barba_! She hadn't told him one of her darkest secrets so he could go blabbing it to the cops less than twenty-four hours later!

She explained the situation as thoroughly as she could. When she was through, Rollins and Benson stared at her.

"You didn't think this was relevant to share with us?" Rollins finally said.

"It was eighteen years ago. I was sixteen. It happened in Virginia! Why would I connect  _that_  with  _this_?"

"DMV records indicate that Bill Peterson has been living in New Jersey for the last five years," Benson said.

"I had no idea," Olivia told her. "I didn't keep tabs on him. I really just tried to forget the whole thing."

"You don't think he might be angry with you, Olivia?" Rollins said. "You seduced him. Ruined his career. He was on the sex offender registry for seven years, which meant he couldn't even use the  _internet_  for nearly a decade."

Olivia frowned and looked down at her hands. Her short nails were painted dark blue, almost black, and the color made her skin look even paler. She pressed her palms against the table and spread her fingers. "He deserved it," she finally said. "Do you know how many girls he molested before I got him caught? I did what I did to prevent it from happening again, to keep him from hurting any more girls."

She looked up at them, the emotion raw and naked on her face. "When it was just me, the DA was going to accept a plea. A fucking misdemeanor! But then all these girls came forward. They just kept coming. Grown women with daughters of their own. He'd been doing this since he was fifteen. He started with the little ones, the JonBenets. At sixteen I was too old for him, really, but he made an exception." Her smile was bitter. "Like he was doing me a  _favor_."

"No one here is judging you, Olivia," Benson said, gently. "We just need you to understand that there's no detail too small. Nothing is insignificant when looking for a predator like this."

"Do you really think it could be Bill? He doesn't like—women. Just girls."

"If it is him, then it isn't about sex," Rollins said. "He's trying to scare you. Terrorize you."

She considered that with a furrowed brow. "The guy from the pictures. I didn't recognize him."

"It's been eighteen years, like you said. And none of the photos were very clear."

"Or the guy in the pictures could be a coincidence," Benson said. "Someone who saw you taking pictures and decided to follow you around."

"Ugh. So many creepers in this damn city." Olivia propped her elbow on the table and rested her forehead in her hand. "But it might not be Bill," she said. "It could be anyone."

"We're hoping Virginia took a blood sample when he was arrested. We can run it for DNA."

"Would they still have that?"

"Hopefully," Benson said. "With such serious charges…probably. When DNA was in its earliest stages, many law enforcement agencies saved samples for  _one day_."

"Okay, so, Bill Peterson aside," Rollins said, "is there  _anyone_  you can think of who might want to do this? An ex-boyfriend? An employee you had to let go?"

"No, not really. Any staff changes at the gallery have been people leaving for other opportunities, not me firing them. Um…boyfriends…no. I try to keep things really casual, and I haven't had a guy react badly to that."

"What about jealousy?" Benson said. "Some men don't like to share."

Olivia shivered as though reminded of something unpleasant. "There was a guy in college…but he moved out west a few years ago. Or so I heard."

"Okay. We're gonna need his name," Rollins said. "And the names of all your male employees, past and present."

"Yeah, of course. I'll have my assistant email that to you as soon as possible." She shifted in her seat, unhappy. "I was going to ask if you really think this is personal, but based on all these questions, you do."

"It would be odd if it weren't," Benson said. "We thought that stealing your underwear and staying for a snack was a form of escalation—the perpetrator getting bolder—but the new evidence points to a personal connection."

"Okay," Olivia said. "That—is really shitty news. But thank you for being so upfront with me."

Benson cleared her throat and cut Rollins a look. "Speaking of," she said, "you should know that Detective Carisi has been removed from the case."

"Ahhh…" Her mouth quirked. "He mentioned that might happen."

"I just want you to know that Detective Carisi's behavior is  _not_  standard, and I don't want it to reflect on our squad as a whole."

"Lieutenant Benson, please. We're all adults here. Neither Sonny nor I planned for anything to happen, but it did. When he realized it was more than a one-time thing, he told you about it. He didn't want to create a conflict of interest. I understand that it isn't exactly kosher—to say the least—but what's done is done. I don't blame him, and I sure as hell don't blame you, your squad, or the NYPD."

Rollins kept her mouth shut through this entire exchange. She was still shocked that Fin had been right: Carisi had slept with a vic. The behavior was so out of character that she could barely believe it, and part of her was annoyed Carisi had told Benson before he told  _her_ , his partner.

Though probably it was better, because the last thing Rollins needed was another reason for Liv to be pissed at her.

While Rollins woolgathered, the two Olivias were moving past the awkward moment and Benson was thanking her for her time.

"Of course," she said as they stood. "I just wish I could be more help. Please keep me posted if you find anything else."

"We will," Benson said. "Keep your eyes open, and don't hesitate to call us if you see anything the least bit suspicious."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Detective." They shook hands and she left, sliding into her coat and heading for the elevator.

"Keep looking at Bill Peterson," Benson told Rollins. "And check out this ex-boyfriend she mentioned. I doubt our guy's going to stop at a simple break-in."

* * *

Olivia stabbed at the elevator call button like it had personally offended her. She was shaking. She yanked her gloves on and shoved her hands into her pockets. Bill Peterson. Bill  _fucking_  Peterson.

No way. He'd be nearly fifty now. Surely a fifty-year-old man had better things to do than masturbate all over someone's bed and steal some panties.

The elevator finally opened and she stood aside to let it empty before ducking in. She punched the  _door close_  button just as hard as she'd hit the call button, but still she heard someone call for her to hold it.

Her need to be alone warred with the manners her mother had ground into her from an early age. By the time she reached a decision it was too late: a black briefcase slid between the doors and they popped open again.

"Ah. Ms. Gable," Barba said with a tight smile.

Olivia gave him a withering glare. "You," she said.

"Indeed. I." He stepped inside and pushed the button for the first floor as though it weren't already lit up.

She rolled her eyes and took steps across the car to fit herself tightly in the corner. The doors shut again and their descent began. Five floors with the person she least wanted to see on earth.

Maybe the second least, after Bill Peterson.

That thought brought her temper to the surface. "You!" she said again, this time pointing an accusing finger his way.

"I believe we've established that it is, indeed, I."

"Stop being so fucking  _glib_! Smug asshole!"

He blinked. "Am I being smug or glib, Ms. Gable? Make up your mind."

"There are correlations between the two! Don't—"

The doors opened and a few people got on. Olivia was forced to move closer to him, partially because she wasn't finished.

"Don't play ignorant with me," she hissed. "I know you told Benson."

They stopped at the next floor and their company departed. She waited until they were completely alone again until she spun toward him.

"You told her about Bill Peterson!"

He sighed. "Yes, I told her his name. I didn't tell her anything else you said last night. But once I learned about the DNA results, I felt it was worth mentioning. Speaking of!" He spun neatly and frowned down at her. "It would have been nice of you to inform me about your relationship with Detective Carisi."

Color sprang to her cheeks and her full mouth thinned. "Okay, first of all—"

The elevator stopped again and Olivia wondered if this ride from hell would ever end.

"First of all," she whispered over the chatter of the two men who'd just gotten in, "it's none of your goddamn business. Got it? And secondly, there is no  _relationship_."

"There's enough of one that Benson felt it necessary to remove Carisi from your case."

The doors opened and they were finally,  _finally_  at the first floor. She headed for the exit without looking back, and Barba was amazed at how much ground she could cover at her height. She was only five-two. Five-five, maybe, in the heels she wore.

He hurried after her, more annoyed than ever, and grabbed her elbow to pull her out of the flow of traffic. "We aren't done here," he snapped.

"Yes we are. Let go of me!"

He did, but she didn't leave. Instead she glared up at him, her chest heaving and her eyes glowing with fury. "You've got some nerve. You recused yourself because of one shitty blind date! Yet you accuse me of having a  _relationship_  with Carisi and, what? Keeping it from you!? As if you fucking  _care_!"

"I don't care!" he said, a low growl. "But my mother is under the  _delusion_  that you and I are perfect for each other, so it would be nice for her to know that you're seeing someone!"

"For the last time, I'm not  _seeing_  Carisi!"

"No? So you're telling me he risked his career over nothing? Over a  _flight_  of  _fancy_?" The way he enunciated each word was like a little slap, and it took all her self control not to flinch.

"He didn't  _risk his career_. We had sex, Barba. Several times, several  _ways_ , for several hours, on two separate occasions.  _Hot fucking_  does not a relationship make," she hissed. "It's none of your business, and as much as I like her, it's none of your  _mother's_  business, either!"

He took a deep breath in an attempt to control himself. The images she'd just put in his head weren't ones he needed. At all. And he certainly didn't need to be seen yelling at a victim in the precinct house.

"I'm sorry if you feel betrayed by what I told Benson," he said, the words coming fast and quiet. "It was important information that she needed to do her job and solve your case."

"I don't agree, but regardless, I would have told her."

"Would you? Really? Because obviously you hadn't yet."

"Why the hell are you so fixated on Bill Peterson?"

"Why are you so dismissive of him?" he countered.

"Because it was a long time ago! How would he even find me?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Ms. Gable. Google?"

"So after eighteen years he's just sitting around one day and thinks 'shucks I never got revenge on that Olivia Gable bitch. Let's see what she's up to.…'? Really?"

He shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other and gently took her arm again, this time to lead her outside. It was too warm in the building to continue fighting with her in there. And they were starting to attract attention.

"You told me your gallery had been written up in the  _Times_ ,  _The_   _New Yorker_ , and  _New York_  magazine, among other publications. You also said an artist of your acquaintance was getting an exhibit at MOMA within the month. I assume there's been press about it, and your name has been mentioned."

She took her arm back and blinked at him, astounded. "You—actually heard me say all that?"

"I told you: I'm always listening." He glanced away, picking an imaginary bit of lint off his dark coat and trying to avoid the intensity of her eyes. "Besides, it was all on the gallery's website. My point is all of these articles have been within the last six months, have they not?"

"Y-yes," she said slowly, not liking where he was going with this.

"Okay. So let's say one day Bill Peterson was sitting around feeling bitter about his shitty life when he happened to open the paper and see your name, right there in print, after so many years. Don't you think that could possibly fan certain flames?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "No. That's crazy. There are no flames to fan. And besides, this is all beside the point! You had no right." She shook her head, anger replacing uncertainty. "But that never occurred to you, did it? The great Rafael Barba! You're so fucking arrogant!"

"Maybe so, but that doesn't change anything." He gave a quick, impatient sigh and stepped closer. Lowered his voice even further. "Olivia, I'm not kidding: sleeping with Carisi is a terrible idea. For a million reasons."

"Maybe it is," she said, stepping away and lifting her chin. "But you know what? So was trusting you." With that, she turned in a swirl of skirt and sweet cloud of scent and stalked away, her heels clicking angrily on the hard floor.

He didn't bother following her this time. Like she said, there wasn't any point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow he's so chuffed about her fucking Carisi. Wonder why.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara convinces Olivia to leave the house for once, and bad shit happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter today, loves, bc it was either slightly shorter chapter or HUGE MONSTER CHAPTER.

Olivia spent the rest of the day furious. She wanted to call Carisi and blow off some steam, but she thought maybe that needed a little time. She didn't want to cause him any more problems at work than she already had.

She kept running the argument with Barba over and over in her head. He was wrong: Bill Peterson wasn't involved in this. What did it matter that the gallery had suddenly started getting so much press? Sure, he could find her name on the website, and just a little bit of Googling would lead to her address…but that was still more work than someone would want to invest in some ridiculous quest for revenge eighteen years after the fact.

He shouldn't have told Benson anything. He should have just stayed the fuck out of her life.

What right did he have dredging up her old bullshit? Why had she told him any of that  _any_ way? Of all the idiotic things to do. If she were going to spill her guts to anyone, it should have been Carisi. Not only would he  _not_  have gone all judgmental like Barba, but also he would've had the sense to realize Bill Peterson had no bearing on the current case.

The gallery had a huge installation going in for an opening on Friday, but the real work didn't start until tomorrow. She made sure everything was on track, and just after lunch she left. She went straight home, locked her door, changed into her rattiest pair of PJs, and curled up in bed with Baloo, ice cream, and Netflix.

Sara FaceTimed her around seven. Olivia almost didn't answer, but she knew Sara would just worry if she didn't.

"What the hell are you doing?" her best friend said without any sort of preamble.

"Hello to you too, Sara Grace," Olivia said.

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Um…Monday?"

"Yes. Monday. Monday, January thirtieth."

"Sara, I'm aware. What's so special about it?"

"Oh my God, Olivia!  _Please_  tell me you're kidding!" When she just stared, Sara huffed. "It's the anniversary of the day I turned you gay!"

Olivia blinked, then burst out laughing. "You didn't  _turn me gay_ , you ass! I'm bi, and I've always been bi!"

"Yeah, yeah, but it wasn't until second semester freshman year that you finally kissed a girl—hello,  _me_ —and confirmed to the world what the rest of us already knew: Olivia Jameson Gable, art history major, serious nerd, total bisexual."

"We have literally never celebrated this anniversary before in our lives," Olivia said.

"All the more reason to start now. Put on something cute; we're going out!"

"Babe, I can't. I've got that installation starting tomorrow—"

"I knnnoooow," Sara said with an exaggerated sigh. "One drink, and I'll have you home by ten. I promise." She pressed her hands together and gave Olivia the puppy eyes.

"Don't do that."

"Olllliiiiveeeeeaaaaaa, come ouuuut with meeeee!"

Olivia knew exactly what Sara was up to, but she couldn't keep a straight face. "Fine!" she said, laughing. "One drink. Where and what time?"

"Usual spot. I can be done here by…eight?"

"Eight it is, pushy. I'll see you then." She disconnected the call and fell back against the pillows. She needed a shower after wallowing all day. And something to eat besides just ice cream, or even one drink would go straight to her head.

Sighing, she dragged herself out of bed and to the bathroom. If she didn't love Sara so much, she swore one day she might strangle her.

* * *

"So you cleared Peterson," Carisi said with a frown. Tuesday morning: still no real leads on Olivia's case, especially if what Rollins said was true.

She lifted her hands in a shrug. "Pretty much. He was in a motorcycle accident last year, broke his back in three different places. He's not paralyzed, but his movement is severely limited."

"He was at physical therapy in Paramus when the break-in happened at Olivia's apartment," Fin said. "So now we're tryin' to track down that ex-boyfriend she mentioned."

"Any luck?"

"You know you're not on this case anymore, right?" Rollins said with a frown.

Carisi gave her an exasperated look. "Gimme a break, Rollins. I'm just askin'."

She sighed and relented. "Not really," she said. "We found record that he moved to Washington state a few years ago, just like Olivia told us, but after that he seems to've evaporated."

"Melted, maybe," Fin remarked. "Too damn much rain out there."

Carisi's phone buzzed just as Liv emerged from her office. He was glad for the excuse to duck out of her sight; she hadn't stopped glaring at him since she took him off the case yesterday.

"Carisi," he said. "Wait, hang on. Say that again?" His brow furrowed, then his entire face scrunched as he listened. "How late?"

Rollins gave Fin's arm a brief smack and gestured toward Carisi. They both watched as he grew more agitated. He pushed back from his desk and stood. Gripped his hip with one hand, then brought it up to chew on a thumbnail.

"Uh huh. Yeah, no, you did the right thing callin' me. I'm sendin' someone over there now. Thanks, August."

"What was that about?" Benson said as Carisi hung up and reached for his coat.

"It was Olivia's assistant at the gallery. I gave him my card the other day. He said Olivia's over an hour late for work. She's never late anyway, he said, and today there's the start of this big installation for an opening. He's been callin' her and gettin' no answer."

"You're on the desk, Carisi," she said.

"Loo—!"

She raised her hand to quiet him. "Fin, Rollins, get over there and check it out. Carisi, don't move from that desk, understood?"

Fin and Rollins were already halfway to the elevator.

"Keep me posted!" Benson called after them.

"Got it, Liv," Fin said.

"Call her," she told Carisi. "Keep calling until someone answers."

"Yeah, Loo," he said, dialing. "I'm on it."

In the car Rollins put on the blue lights, and they made it to Olivia's building in record time. The elevator was its usual sluggish self, but soon they were pounding on the door.

"Olivia?" Rollins called. "This is Detective Rollins. If you're in there, open up!"

Nothing.

Fin and Rollins shared a look, and down the hall the elevator doors opened. Alan Frost, Olivia's neighbor, and his giant Rottweiler stepped out. He did a double-take when he saw them.

"Detective…Rollins, right?" he said. "Is Olivia okay?"

"We aren't sure," Rollins said. "Have you seen her this morning?"

He frowned and stepped closer. The dog strained at her leash, the stump of her tail wagging, and eventually got close enough to press her head against Rollins' thigh. Grinning, she petted her until she caught Fin's glower.

She cleared her throat. "Sorry. I just—love dogs."

Alan smiled, briefly, before his expression clouded again. "It's funny you should ask that, because normally Tink and I see her as we're leaving for our morning run. We didn't today, but I know the gallery had that big installation this week, so I figured she just left early for work."

"She hasn't been in yet, according to her assistant," Fin said.

His eyes widened. "That's not like her. At all. Especially with so much work to do." Sensing her owner's distress, Tinkerbell whined and pressed against his legs. He gave her an absent-minded pat. "Oh God, she could be—it didn't even occur to me—this is awful!"

"You had no way of knowing," Rollins said. She gently turned him toward his apartment. "Go inside and close the door. Do not open it unless it's one of us knocking. Understand?"

"Yeah, of course. Should I call someone?"

"We'll let you know. Just stay put for now," Fin said.

They waited until Alan and his dog were safely inside before Fin knocked again, this time banging on the door with his fist. When there was still no response, Rollins tried the doorknob.

It turned, and the door opened.

Without a word, they drew their weapons and stepped inside.

"NYPD!" Fin called. "Is anyone here?"

Silence. Fin nodded toward the kitchen. Rollins nodded back and headed for the bedroom.

The bed was rumpled. Clothes and underwear were strewn across the room. The sound of distressed meowing came from the closet. She opened it to find an enormous, pissed off cat. He stalked out and headed straight for the closed bathroom door. He scratched it, his meows turning to angry howls that brought Fin from the other room.

He raised his weapon, pointing it at the door, and Rollins opened it quickly. The light was on, and the white tile gleamed back at her. The room was empty except for a small form crumpled on the floor.

"Goddammit," Rollins said, dropping to her knees. "Call a bus!" she said to Fin.

He took one look at the bathroom tableau and turned away, speaking rapidly into his walkie.

Rollins checked for a pulse and let out a breath of relief when she felt one, thready and fast, but there. "Fin, come get this damn cat before it gets hair all over everything!"

Her partner returned, scowled at Amanda, and carried the cat back to the closet. There was a carrier on the shelf with  _Baloo_  embroidered on it. "Good enough," he grunted, shoving the large angry feline into it. "What the hell are you? A goddamn cougar?"

Back in the bathroom, Rollins pulled a towel off the bar and draped it over Olivia. She was wearing a ruffly pink nightie that was pulled up high enough to reveal matching pink panties. Her phone was on the floor next to her out-flung hand, and it rang, Carisi's number displaying on the ID. Rollins snapped on a pair of gloves and answered it.

"Olivia! Jesus, I was—"

"It's Rollins, Carisi. We found her. She's unconscious. Bus is on its way. Let Liv know to meet us at Bellevue."

" _What_?!" he cried. "Is she okay? Is she hurt?"

"I don't know. There's no blood that I can see, or any visible injuries. Just—I'll call you as soon as I know anything. Talk to Liv." She hung up before he could say anything else.

"Hey, Fin?" she called. "Come here and see this!"

He appeared in the doorway. "What's up?"

"Look at her hands," she said. She lifted the small hand and showed Fin her fingernails. They were painted a delicate, pearly pink. "Yesterday they were painted dark blue."

"So? Maybe they got chipped."

She frowned at him. "Look at her cuticles. You can still see traces of the old polish. And they're a mess. Look, this one's ripped—before it was painted."

"Huh," he said. "Her toenails are the same color. You think our perp did it?"

"Or forced her to." She rose and walked into the bedroom. Opened the closet, then did a quick check of the drawers. "There's nothing pink anywhere. Not even pink lingerie."

"So he—what? Forces his way inside, knocks her out somehow, and changes her clothes? Paints her nails?"

"I don't know. I can't imagine her letting anyone in she didn't know, or who she thought might be dangerous. We'll have to see what the doctor says once we get her to the hospital." With a shake of her head, Rollins went back to the bathroom to sit with her while Fin went downstairs to wait on the ambulance.

She flipped through Olivia's phone, noticing several missed calls from her assistant and from Carisi, all timed this morning. Nothing last night, except an outgoing text a little after ten. It was to Sara, the friend she and Carisi had interview last week, and it was just a thumb's up in response to a text saying she'd gotten home safely.

Had Olivia been out with her friend last night? Where was the text to Sara saying she, Olivia, had gotten home okay? Why would she go out the night before such big work day?

It didn't seem logical that she would get blackout drunk on a Monday night right before she had to be at work early for what would probably be a long, busy day. Maybe at twenty-two, but not at thirty-five.

Rollins heard the door open and the sound of a gurney. Paramedics appeared at the bathroom door and nodded to her. "Any idea what she took?" one of them said as he slipped on a stethoscope and knelt next to her.

"No. We found her like this about ten minutes ago. But it's unlikely it was taken willingly, whatever it was. We think she might have been drugged."

"Okay," the first guy said. "Let's get her out of here." They lifted her onto the stretcher and rolled her out. Rollins followed, stopping briefly to let Alan know it was safe to come out of his apartment, and then climbed into the back of the ambulance. Fin would stay there to wait for CSU, and Liv would meet her at the hospital. She'd practically had to tie Carisi to his desk to keep him there, but ultimately his better nature had won out and he'd shut up and listened to her.

Poor kid, Rollins thought. He had it bad already.


	9. The Sordid Tale of Bill Peterson, Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of her assault, Olivia tells Rollins and Benson the rest of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one today, loves, in favor of a monster one.
> 
> Also, I know there're tags and such, and this is an SVU story, but this is the chapter where most of those warnings come in: tw for discussions of child abuse and pedophilia, but nothing explicit or extreme. It's no more than you'd see or hear on the show.

Olivia woke slowly, reluctantly, but there was something beeping near her head, and she didn't like it. She fought against the current pulling her under and eventually opened her eyes, only to screw them shut again. The light felt like a spear straight into her skull, and she figured she had maybe the worst hangover of her entire life.

A hangover? That couldn't be right. It was load-in day.

"Fuck!" she tried to yell. She barely managed a croak, and it was still enough to make her wince. She had a massive hangover on load-in day, and judging by the light, she had slept through her six-thirty alarm.

So what was the beeping?

She carefully cracked an eyelid. There was something very, very wrong here. The sheets felt weird, and the bed was too hard. The beeping didn't sound like her alarm. The light was fluorescent.

Finally she was able to get both her eyes open and look around. She was dizzy, and when she lifted a hand to steady her spinning head, there was one of those pulse ox monitors clipped to her fingertip. A hospital bracelet on her wrist. And beneath it, livid against her pale skin, a ring of scrapes and bruises that she absolute did  _not_  remember getting.

She was in the hospital. The beeping was the blood pressure monitor. Her head ached and her throat hurt and her wrists were sore…but other than that she didn't feel  _too_  terrible. How the fuck had she ended up here?

The room had a window, and out in the hall she could see Detective Rollins and Lieutenant Benson talking to a tall Black woman. A doctor, judging by her clothing.

"Oh god," Olivia whispered. She pressed shaking hands to her face, then jerked them away again. She spread her fingers, staring in confusion. Why the fuck were her nails painted that insipid shade of pink? She didn't really have anything against pink as a color, but she never wore it. Redheads, contrary to pop culture's belief, did  _not_  look pretty in it.

She was still trying to process her nails and the bruises around her wrists when the door opened. Rollins poked her head in and smiled.

"Hey, Olivia. I'm glad you're awake. Do you think you feel like answering some questions?"

"Could—" She cleared her throat. "Could I get some water?"

"Yeah, of course." She hurried into the room, Benson just behind her, and poured from a pitcher on the table. She handed Olivia the styrofoam cup, and she took a grateful sip.

"My throat…" she whispered. "Killing me. What happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us, Olivia," Benson said, gently. "Your assistant called Detective Carisi this morning when you didn't show up for work. Detectives Rollins and Fin found you passed out on your bathroom floor."

Her eyes widened and her face went even paler. "I don't—" She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I don't remember. I don't even remember coming home."

"Okay," Rollins said. "That's okay. Let's start with the first thing you  _do_  remember. Walk us through your day yesterday from the time you left the station."

From the time she left? Okay, that meant she could exclude her stupid argument with Barba. She sipped her water and fiddled with the straw. "I went straight to work. We have a huge show opening Friday, and today was the start of load-in. I made sure everything was ready to go, and I went home early."

"Did you stop anywhere on your way?" Benson said. "Maybe went to the store?"

Olivia shook her head. "No. I went straight home. It had been a long day, and it was only one. I put my pajamas on and curled up in bed with ice cream and Netflix."

"You did leave at some point, though," Rollins said.

"Yeah." She coughed a little. "My friend Sara called around—um, seven? I think? And talked me into going out. She knew today was an early morning, so we were just going to have a couple of drinks and call it a night."

"That's good, Olivia," said Benson. "Do you remember where you went?"

She nodded, then winced. "Same place we always go. It's this bar called Nickel and Dime?" She gave them the address. "It's halfway between both our apartments."

"That's great. Do you remember what you ordered?"

"Um…" Things were starting to get fuzzy. She licked her lips. "I got a glass of wine. Red. Sara got…a martini, I think? Yeah, a martini. I don't—I really don't remember much after that. Everything gets all blurry, and…I don't even remember Sara leaving. Or going home."

"All right," Benson said. She tucked her notebook away. "That's all right, Olivia. It's very common for memories to come back slowly. Tests found traces of Rohypnol in your blood; it's possible you won't remember much more about last night."

"Rohypnol?!" she croaked. "Are you saying I was  _roofied_?"

"It would seem so," Rollins said. "Memory loss is a side effect, unfortunately."

Olivia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. "Was I—" The words caught in her aching throat and for several moments she couldn't continue. "Was I raped?" she finally said.

"Olivia, look at me," Benson said.

She did, and tears stood out in her bright green eyes.

"You weren't raped," Benson said. "The exam showed no signs of trauma. There were no traces of semen, and no lubricant residue. There was some tissue under your nails, which might be why he tied you up."

She relaxed a little, but only a little. "Tied me up," she murmured, studying the marks on her wrists.

"Your throat hurts because you were strangled. Possibly with a belt."

She touched the soreness there, but quickly jerked her hand away. "And my nails?"

Benson and Rollins shared a look. "You didn't paint them that color?" the latter said.

"No. I don't own any pink polish."

"What about pink lingerie?"

"What? No. Nothing."

"Okay," Benson said. "You were found in a pink nightgown and matching underwear. Very…young-looking. Lots of ruffles."

Olivia looked at them, her face momentarily twisting in a frown before a dawning look of horror crept across her features. "It was Bill," she whispered.

"Bill Peterson?" Rollins said. "You remembered something?"

"No, not—I just—" She rubbed her forehead and took another long breath. "It's kind of a long story, and maybe I should've told you before, what with the stolen panties…but it wasn't anything he did to me, and I didn't think—it was important."

"What do you mean,  _anything he did to you_?" Benson said. "You told us you performed fellatio on him one time."

She sighed. "That…isn't the whole story." Her nose scrunched. "I knew what he did to that girl because he'd done the same thing to me: lured me to his room with promise of 'tips and tricks' to impress the judges, and then…made me take my clothes off. Told me to…touch myself…or he would…get me disqualified. I was a kid. I wanted to win, because it would make my mom happy and because…shit. Because I wanted to  _win_!"

"It's not your fault," Benson said. "Whatever he did to you, you know it's not your fault. That's why you did what you did later."

She swallowed hard, painfully, and nodded. Her head fell back against the pillow and tears trickled from her eyes to roll down her temples into her hair. "Yeah," she breathed. "I know. And I hated myself, too, for not telling anyone. For not stopping him  _then_. So he hurt that girl, and who knew how many since I was twelve."

"What does this have to do with what happened last night?" Rollins said.

She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. "Um…that? Nothing, really. It's…the rest of the story. The part that doesn't really have anything to do with me."

Rollins carefully took the water cup from her and refilled it before passing it back. Olivia gave her a tiny, grateful smile and sipped. "It's okay, Olivia," she said. "Take your time."

Olivia shifted in the bed and smoothed the covers across her legs. "About six months after the trial was over, I got an email. It was from this girl I knew, Alice Henry—she was a few years older than me, and we weren't really friends or anything, but  _everyone_  knew her on the pageant circuit. She was, like,  _it_. I mean, she won every pageant she entered and everyone just knew she was going to be Miss America one day."

"What was the email about?" Benson said. She had her notebook out again.

"She wanted to meet. To talk about Bill. It was weird, because…she was fifteen when she just quit. I mean, cold turkey. No more pageants. No one really heard from her after that."

"Did anyone know what happened?" Rollins said.

Olivia made a face. "There were rumors: she got fat. She got pregnant. She got fat  _and_  pregnant." She waved a hand. "Brutal shit, but nothing unusual. Anyway, I agreed to meet her, and when I got there she pulled out these pictures."

"Pictures?" Benson said. "What kind of pictures?"

"They were her, when she was a kid. I mean, like fourteen or fifteen, not a little kid. She was dressed in this pink ruffly nightgown. She looked…she was awake, but barely. Like, seriously out of it."

Olivia paused, and her eyes were far away. "She said those were the PG-rated ones. The rest were much, much more explicit."

"Bill Peterson took these photos, I'm guessing," Rollins said, her tone disgusted.

"Mmhmm. He would do just like he did with me: invite girls to his room promising to help them. Some I guess he would…watch…like with me, but with others, he'd offer them a drink. Diet Coke or something. And then they'd wake up in their rooms the next morning. No memory of what happened the night before."

"So he was drugging these girls, dressing them up, and taking sexually explicit photos," Rollins said. "How did Alice get copies?"

"He sent them to her. Apparently he always did. She knew of five or six other girls he'd done this to, but she wouldn't name names. She said she didn't come forward in time to testify because she didn't want the pictures becoming public."

"That's why she dropped out? To avoid anyone finding out about the photos?"

"No," Olivia said. "Her mother saw them. She used to go through her room, read her diary and stuff. She had them hidden in a drawer, and her mother flipped out. She told her everything, she said. Everything she could remember, anyway."

"No one went to the cops?" Rollins said, flabbergasted. "Or even the pageant coordinators?"

"Her mother didn't want the scandal. I guess she thought pulling her daughter out of pageants was the best way to protect her. It kept her away from Bill, anyway."

Rollins and Benson shared a look. "Okay, Olivia. The problem is Bill Peterson has an alibi for the night of the break-in," Rollins said.

"What?" Olivia said. "That can't be right. I mean—who else would do this? With the nightgown and the roofie? That's his MO."

"Did he ever use restraints with any of the girls?"

"Not that I know of. But they were kids. Young teenagers. I'm a grown woman, and I can fight. I box. Also—you said his alibi was physical therapy, right? So maybe he had trouble moving me, or getting me positioned how he wanted."

"We're going to analyze the tissue found under your fingernails and see if it matches the semen from your bed."

"There's no way this was two different people. That's—like…I can't possibly believe I'm  _that_  unlucky."

"Okay, let's not worry about that just yet," Benson said. "We're going to double-check Peterson's alibi, and we've got a request in to Richmond PD for any evidence they have from your case. Now. And this is  _very_  important, Olivia. Is there anything else you need to tell us? Anyone who might have known Peterson's MO? Anyone else around the pageant circuit who was talked about?"

She frowned and bit at her lip. "I can't think of anyone specific, but Bill always had, like…apprentices?"

"Apprentices?" Rollins said.

"Yeah, like…learning about pageants and about coaching girls? They were always like, um…teenagers. Cute, some of them."

"Boys?" Benson said. "Teenage boys?"

"Yeah. A new one every time you saw him, it seemed. I don't remember any names, I'm sorry." She paused and her eyes narrowed a little. "There was one…he seemed to stick around awhile. Sometimes, when he was around, there was, like, a second apprentice. An even younger kid. Shit, what was his  _name_?" She pressed her fingers to her forehead as though to push the memory out.

"Matthew? Michael? Mike…?" She shook her head in frustration. "Micah!" she said. "That was it. I remember because I'd never heard that as a name before. Micah, definitely."

"Micah, okay," Benson said. "Any last name? Or an age?"

"Uummm…last name, no way. But age…he must've been sixteen or seventeen when I was twelve or thirteen? So late thirties, early forties."

"You were twelve when he was Peterson's apprentice?" Rollins said. "Was he involved in what happened to you?"

"No, he—" She broke off as though someone had smacked her. "He—he asked me if I liked soda. That morning. I told him I wasn't allowed to have it. Then he wanted to know…kinda weird, geez, I'd totally forgotten. He wanted to know what time my mom usually went to bed."

Benson snapped her notebook closed and tucked her pen away. "Okay. You've been really helpful, Olivia. Try to get some rest."

"Did the doctor say when I could go home?"

"She wants to keep you overnight to make sure you don't have a reaction to anything he might have given you. I'm sure she or a nurse will be in soon to check on you."

"Okay. Thank you, Detective, Lieutenant. And—I'm sorry I wasn't more forthcoming before."

Benson gave her a reassuring smile, and they left. "So. Peterson is a pedophile, and he was grooming this Micah kid," she said as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Sounds like it. And I seriously doubt Peterson was keeping those pictures to himself."

"Even if his alibi checks out, this might be enough for a warrant. If we find those pictures we can get him on child pornography, if nothing else."

"You think one of his 'apprentices' did this to her?"

"If it wasn't Peterson, then it was definitely someone close to him. Narrows the suspect pool a bit." She stopped Rollins with a hand on her arm. "Keep a close eye on your partner through this, okay? He's relatively new to the unit, and this'll hit him hard."

"He's a good cop, Liv. Kind of an idiot, but he means well."

"Yeah," Benson said. "That's what I'm worried about."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for next time, when Barba comes to visit Olivia in the hospital.


	10. Purple Tulips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia gets an unexpected visitor while she's stuck in the hospital.

Olivia had been in the hospital almost twenty-four hours, and she was damn tired of it. She'd been on FaceTime with August, her assistant, for most of the morning, but it wasn't the same as being at the gallery. They were almost a full day behind, and the show was opening Friday come hell or high water.

The nurses thought she'd be released some time that day, which was great…but Olivia wasn't sure where she could go. Sara's, maybe. Alan lived in the same building, and while that was fine for Baloo (for now), there was no way Olivia could go back there for a while.

Sara's wasn't the best idea, either, because if Bill (or whoever) had been following her Monday night, he would've seen her with Sara. If he'd been following her for months or weeks, he would've seen her with Sara quite often. Which meant he could easily know where Sara lived and could find Olivia there without much trouble.

A hotel was the only option, really, and while she wasn't thrilled, she couldn't think of anything better.

There was a light knock on her door, and Olivia called for the visitor to come in. There was a cop sitting out in the hall, so she knew it wasn't Bill, or a stranger. She assumed it was a nurse, but when she looked up she let out a little squeak and dropped her phone into her lap.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she said, her voice still scraped and raw-sounding.

Barba winced and ducked his head. He looked unsure of himself for the first time in their tempestuous acquaintance, and that threw her off balance. "I deserve that, I guess, after the things I said yesterday," he said. He looked up at her with a rueful tilt to his mouth. "I suppose I'm partially here to apologize."

She stared at him. He had his coat draped over one arm, and a fabulous bouquet of dark purple tulips cradled in the other. "How did you—?" She didn't finish the question, both because it hurt and because she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

He tilted his head and tried to complete the sentence on his own. "Know you were here? I found out when I called the precinct yesterday to get a case update."

"My case?"

"No, a different one. But Liv mentioned it." He cast around for something to put the flowers in and eventually grabbed the plastic pitcher. He opened the lid and peeked inside, then dumped the water in the sink and refilled it. Removing the paper that surrounded the tulip stems, he slid them into the pitcher and added the little packet of plant food.

Olivia watched this entire ritual with a growing sense of incredulity. "I was drinking that," she finally said, for lack of anything better.

"I'm sure the nurse would be happy to bring you some more." He returned the pitcher to its place on the little rolling table and plucked at the tulips until they were arranged to his satisfaction.

"If you were asking how I knew your favorite flower," he said with a smug little smile, "all that took was a call to your assistant."

"He gave a complete stranger that information?"

"I had  _my_  assistant call, and she identified herself as working for the ADA's office. She wanted to know your favorite flower so we could offer our support for your speedy recovery."

"Oh. So these are from the Manhattan ADA's office."

"No," he said. "They're from me. I wanted to offer my support for your speedy recovery." He tucked his hands in his pockets and grinned at her, a genuine one that brought creases to the corners of his eyes and lit up his face.

"Jesus," she said, trying not to laugh. "You're really proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"As apologetic gestures go, flowers rank in the top ten."

She snorted. "I'm surprised you're not here to gloat," she said.

"Gloat?" His forehead creased in a frown. "You mean because you were attacked? Shit, Olivia, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"No, I didn't mean—not about that. Of course not. I meant because you were right about Bill Peterson."

"Hmm," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Carisi mentioned he had an alibi for the night of the break-in."

"Carisi?" she said. She couldn't hide the hope in her voice. "You talked to Carisi? About me?"

"Benson is keeping him away from you for now," he said, his tone gentling. "Optics."

"Oh." She leaned back against the pillows. "I get that." It wasn't that she was eager for Carisi to see her like this, but it would be nice to see a friendly face. Sara had been here yesterday, beside herself that she'd left Olivia at the bar. She helped fill in some of the gaps in Olivia's memory, but neither of them could recall seeing anybody acting squirrelly.

She brushed at her face and glanced at him again. "Did Lieutenant Benson tell you what happened?"

"I'm not assigned to the case," he said. "I thought details were unnecessarily personal."

She understood from his voice that he didn't mean the words nearly as cold as they sounded. He genuinely wanted to respect her privacy; he just had no ability to express that sentiment without sounding kind of like a jerk. Ironic, for someone who made his living on words.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. "About Monday. What I said. I'm not sure I  _would_  have told them about Peterson. It isn't something I usually talk about, and it didn't occur to me he could be involved. I know you thought you were doing the right thing, and…you were. It still pisses me off, but…I'm sorry."

He waved a hand. "Don't, please. I was unconscionably rude to you. And the night we went to dinner. I'm not sure why I—" His mouth quirked a little and he rubbed his face. "You confound me, Olivia. I thought I knew everything there was to know about you within five minutes of meeting you, and yet every time we speak I learn something new. Something surprising."

She found his face fascinating: its stillness, the subtlety of expression, the lines mapped across it. He wasn't good looking in the sweet, simple way of Carisi, but there was something about his face that made it hard to look away. A magnetism.

She realized he was waiting for her to say something, and she blinked. "I—never meant to confound you," she said. "But maybe you should be a little less judgmental."

"Ah, well. I'm a prosecutor. Judgmental is my job."

"Then turn it off," she said. "Just for five minutes. The world isn't a frog, Rafael."

"A—frog?" he said, carefully ignoring how much he liked hearing her say his name.

"Something to be spread out on a board and dissected. Analyzed and categorized. People especially almost always defy categorization."

"I know," he muttered like it was a source of eternal vexation. "But I'm certain you thought you had me figured out fairly quickly too."

She glared at him. "I  _did_ ," she said. Rolling her eyes a little, she let out a huff. "But I was—wrong. About some of it. You're arrogant, that's true. But…you're not entirely insufferable. And you're not a prig."

"A  _prig_? You thought I was an arrogant, insufferable  _prig_?"

She smoothed the sheet primly. "Yes. That's what I said."

"I don't know that I've ever heard anyone use the word  _prig_  in conversation before."

"Consider it the surprising thing you've learned about me this time," she said.

His head fell back as he laughed, a sound that thrilled her somewhere deep inside that she absolutely refused to acknowledge. Finally he looked at her again, still smirking, and shook his head. "Noted. Olivia uses  _prig_  in casual conversation, and no longer thinks I am one."

"I changed my mind once, Mr. Barba. I can change it again."

His phone buzzed before he could answer, and he lifted a hand with an apologetic grimace. "Mami?" he said. There was a pause. "Sí, Mami, I'm here now. … She looks…well. Pale, but well. Would you like to talk to her?"

Olivia shook her head, gesturing emphatically, and Barba nodded. "Never mind, Mami, a nurse just shooed me out. Time for blood pressure and all that. … Yes, I'll ask her. … I said I would, and I will. … Okay, te amo."

He disconnected and sighed. "Well. The other reason I'm here. My mother heard what happened." Olivia opened her mouth, no doubt to bite his head off, but he forestalled her. "I didn't tell her. I wouldn't have. It, ah…unfortunately it made the news."

"The  _news_?" she squeaked with horror. "What did they  _say_?"

"Tribeca gallery owner injured in possible home invasion? They mentioned the break-in too."

"Oh god," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Oh  _god_! This is the last thing I need!" When she looked at him again her expression was unreadable. "Did they—they didn't say I was raped, did they?"

"No, not that I recall," he said, mildly.

"Good. Because I wasn't."

Some tight, furious spot inside him uncoiled a smidgen. The tiniest amount. "I'm glad to hear that," he said.

"He tied me up and he choked me and he painted my nails and changed my clothes, but there's no evidence of rape," she said with a stubborn set to her chin that he already recognized.

"Olivia," he said, his voice soft, "you don't have to prove or explain anything to me."

"I know, I just…a really bad thing happened to me, but it could've been worse. Much worse."

"You don't have to be grateful for that."

"But I am," she said. "I was—I was lucky, really. Incredibly—lucky." Her voice broke on the last word, and for the first time since regaining consciousness yesterday morning, she burst into tears.

"Ah…shit," he muttered. He looked around until he found a box of tissues and set them next to her on the bed. She grabbed one and pressed it to her face, but the tears didn't slow.

"Shit, shit, shit," he said under his breath. He was entirely out of his depth, and he didn't want to fuck this up. He was smart enough to recognize a test when he saw one. While Olivia certainly hadn't planned to start crying, this was one of those moments where the universe presented options, and choosing the wrong one would lead to disaster.

Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he perched on the edge of the bed and reached for her. If she flinched when he touched her he would know he had chosen wrong…but when his fingers brushed the bit of her back bared by the hospital gown, she threw herself at him.

He caught her with a little  _oof_  and held on. He scooted further onto the bed and she nestled against his chest, her face pressed into his shirt and her fingers curling around his lapel. He rubbed her upper arm with his knuckles and stroked her back with his palm. Kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek there, inhaling the spicy citrus scent of her hair and the antiseptic hospital smells that surrounded her.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Shh,  _cariña_ , shhh."

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, and he didn't much care. She was warm and soft against him, a soggy little bundle, and when her sobs finally turned to sniffles he sat back, lifted her chin, and wiped her cheeks with his handkerchief.

"I ruined your shirt," she said in a watery voice. "Maybe your jacket too."

"Not ruined,  _cariña_. I have more at the office, and the dry cleaner will fix this right up."

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I don't usually—that wasn't like me." She dabbed at her nose with a tissue, and when she looked away he hooked a finger under her chin and turned her back toward him.

"Please don't apologize," he said. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"Even your shirt?" she said with a shaky smile.

"Even my shirt," he said, smiling back.

"God," she said. She laughed. "I'm a fucking mess. Would you mind getting me a cool washcloth?"

He slid off the bed and went to the sink. Next to it was a small pile with a bath towel, hand towel, and washcloth. He rinsed it in cool water, rung it out, and brought it to her.

She smiled her thanks and pressed it to her face. "Okay, so, your mom saw me on the news."

"Mmhmm," he said. He kept his distance from her now that the moment had passed. He wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed about the crying, or about doing it in his arms, but either way he wasn't going to make it worse for her. "She wanted me to invite you to stay with her until you're ready to go back to your apartment."

She lowered the washcloth slowly and stared at him like she hadn't heard right. "Your—mother—wants me—to stay with her?"

He lifted his hands in a shrug. "She offered, yes, and she wouldn't have offered unless she meant it. Do you have somewhere else to go?"

"I…" She didn't want to admit she'd been weighing that exact dilemma before he got there. "I was going to stay in a hotel."

"She would be offended. She would understand if you were staying with a friend or family member, but a hotel? Olivia."

"So tell her I'm staying with a friend."

"I can't lie to my mother. Could you?"

She acknowledged that with a brief twist of her mouth.

"I suppose you could stay with Carisi," he said after a moment.

"I told you." She wiped her hands on the washcloth and set it aside. "Carisi and I aren't dating. We aren't in a relationship. I can't show up on his doorstep like some wayward orphan, especially if Lieutenant Benson is worried about optics and I'm already on the goddamn news."

"So come stay with my mother then."

"Aren't you worried he'll find me there?"

"How would he? Possibly he knows you volunteer at her school, but what would make him think of looking for you at her apartment? In Queens?"

He had a good point. Queens was a lot further from the gallery than a hotel would be…but also a lot  _cheaper_ , and she wasn't made of money. Plus home cooked food, and she wouldn't be alone.

Sighing, she made up her mind. "How does Lucia feel about cats?" she said.

* * *

As the day wore on, Olivia became more and more uncertain of her decision to stay with Lucia Barba. A representative for the owner of her building called and assured her the security cameras were working again. They also said they had hired a doorman who would start work first thing tomorrow.

She'd had a locksmith in to replace all of her locks, and to install a police bar on her door. Alan offered to loan her Tink for a few days. Plus she was going to be at work almost constantly between now and Monday, and she would be surrounded by people every second.

A nurse bustled in around lunch to tell her she would be able to go home as soon as the doctor finished signing the papers. Home. That was what Olivia wanted. Not Lucia's, as nice as she was.  _Home_.

She'd already called Sara and asked her to bring some clothes since she'd arrived in that stupid pink nightgown. She got dressed slowly, nodding now and then at something Sara said, and when she finally came to a decision, it was firm and unshakeable.

"I need to call Lucia," she said.

"Olivia, no."

"What?"

"Just go stay with her. Please?" Sara said, a deep line etched between her brows. "You'll be safer there than at your apartment. He knows where you live."

"And where I work, where I drink, probably where  _you_  live. Basically all the places I frequent. I want to be at home, Sara."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Fine. Okay,  _fine_! But you need to call Lieutenant Benson and ask for some sort of police protection. And I don't just mean that little cutie with the dimples."

"Yes, Mom. Whatever you say."

"Don't be a pain in the ass, Gable. Finish getting dressed. I'll take you home."

"I need to go to the gallery."

"I stopped by there on my way here. August has everything under control, and he said by no means are you to come in today."

"August works for  _me_ , not vice versa!" Olivia said, but even as she argued she felt exhaustion descend like a weight. The gallery would still be there tomorrow, and she hadn't spent the last year and a half training August and the rest of her staff just to doubt them now.

"Yeah, okay," she said, surprising the hell out of Sara. "You're right. I'll call him when I get home. Sami sent those flowers," she said in reference to the artist they were hosting. "She told me everything was going well, and she'd see my Friday—so I guess it's all good."

"Mmhmm. You have amazingly competent employees. Now call Lucia and let's get the hell out of here."

Lucia wasn't happy with Olivia's decision, but ultimately she understood. "I'll send Rafi by to check on you this evening," she said.

"Oh, Lucia, that's a kind thought, but it really isn't necessary. I'm sure he has better things to do."

"Hmm," she said, a low, doubtful noise. "Olivia,  _cariña_ , my son is a stubborn man. He thinks too much, and while it might seem that he feels too little, it's actually the opposite. He just refuses to show it. Still waters and all that."

Olivia frowned. "I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"I think you do. Just give him a chance, Olivia. I think you'll find he's worth it."

After that she changed the subject (thankfully), and they chatted for a few more minutes until a nurse appeared to take her downstairs. Olivia sat down in the wheelchair without bothering to complain about it, and within ten minutes she was finally on her way home.

Sara got her settled in, arranging the various flowers she'd received around the apartment and making sure Olivia's fridge was well stocked. She had already been in that morning to clean up the mess the cops had left. She went down the hall to fetch Baloo, but for now she left Tinkerbell with Alan.

"Are you sure you don't need me to stay?" she said. "I totally can."

"You have work you need to be doing, and you've already spent enough time fussing over me. I'm fine. Really." The cat butted Olivia's hand and she petted him as he purred loudly enough to register on the Richter scale.

"I just feel like shit, Oll. If I hadn't left you—"

"Don't, babe. Please? He would've done this eventually anyway. He just happened to get his chance Monday night. Don't blame yourself; blame  _him_."

Sara nodded, brushing at her eyes, then leaned forward to press a kiss to Olivia's forehead. "Call me if you need anything. I mean  _anything_. Any time, okay?"

"Okay, but I'll be fine. I promise."

"Is Detective Cutie coming by tonight?"

"I texted him. He said he'd stop by as soon as he gets off work. He has class tonight, but we can squeeze in some time between the two."

"Uh huh. I'm sure you can."

"Go away, Sara Grace!" Olivia said, pushing her toward the door. They hugged, and finally Sara left her alone.

Olivia picked up Baloo and hugged him. "I kinda wish she'd left it a mess. It would give us something to do." He squirmed until she put him down again, and for a while she just sat on the couch and stared at the dark TV screen. "I could go to work," she said.

Baloo meowed.

"Yeah, I know. Under control." She sighed and pushed herself to her feet. "A nap it is, I guess." She paused next to the bouquet of purple tulips Barba had brought. Sara had left them on the coffee table, but after a moment's hesitation, Olivia grabbed the vase and carried it to the bedroom.

They were her favorite flower, after all.


	11. Thirty Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Barba kisses!

Sonny called on his way over, giving Olivia just enough time to rouse herself from her nap and hop in the shower. Her hair was still wet when he got there, but he didn't seem to mind. He immediately pulled her into a hug, and she held onto him for a long time.

"I'm so sorry I didn't come to the hospital," he murmured into her damp hair.

"Don't be. It's fine. If Benson told you not to, it's better you stayed away. And I was barely there twenty-four hours." She smiled up at him. "You're here now. That's what matters."

"Can I—can I kiss you?"

"Yes," she said. "Please."

He cupped her face in his hand and dipped his head to brush his mouth over hers. She smiled and went up on her toes for another one when he started to pull away.

"How long do we have?" she said.

He checked his watch. "I got class at eight. So two hours." He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her nose. "I can come back after if you want."

"I'd like that." She rested her head on his chest, just enjoying the feel of his arms around her. He felt different than Barba. Thinner, but not in a bad way, and just…different. She shivered, mentally kicking herself for thinking about Barba at all, and focused on the moment now, with Carisi.

"Babe, you know—I'm not expectin' anything. Now, or later." He cupped her face again, his thumb stroking her cheek. "Whatever you want, okay? I know you've been through somethin'."

Her expression clouded. "He didn't rape me, Sonny."

"I know that. I'm not on the case anymore, but—it's a small squad." He kissed her forehead. "But just because he didn't rape you—it's okay if you need to wait. I mean it."

"I'm not—I'm not sure what I want, to be honest. Maybe we could get some food and just hang out? Then see what happens when you get back tonight."

"Yeah." He grinned, dimples flashing. "That sounds great. You want me to spend the night? I could crash on the couch. Just keep you company."

He realized his error when she hesitated, and quickly backtracked.

"Never mind. You got cops ridin' by. You don't need me crowdin' up your couch."

"It's not that, Sonny. I just—it would be weird if you slept on the couch. I mean…" She waved a hand, searching for the words. "You know I like you, and I'm enjoying what we've got going on, but I'm not really ready for an all-nighter. And I'd feel bad banishing you to the sofa."

"Okay," he said. "So I'll come by after class, and we'll just play it by ear?"

"That sounds good." She pulled him down for another kiss. It started out slow and easy, but gradually heated up. She wanted him, she realized. She wanted his hands on her, scrubbing away the thought of Peterson touching her. She wanted his kisses. The weight of him on top of her, and the scent of him surrounding her.

"Rafael…" she murmured.

He pulled away like she'd bitten him. "What?"

She blinked, startled. "Um, I—fuck. I forgot. I talked to Lucia Barba today, and she said she was going to ask him to stop by to check on me after work."

"And that occurred to you while I was kissin' you?"

"Well. Yeah. Because I was thinking maybe we would have time for some fun, but then if we're going to eat…and then it occurred to me that Barba might randomly show up, so maybe now's not the best time to get naked."

"Oh." That seemed to mollify him. "Yeah, true. I really don't want Barba to see me in my underpants."

She giggled. "Less than that, if I had anything to say about it." She pulled him back for more kisses, blocking wayward thoughts firmly from her mind, and she was just  _really_  getting into it when there was a knock at the door.

"No buzz?" he mumbled, barely pulling back from the kiss.

"Cop in the lobby. Probably let him right up." She sighed and left Carisi to walk to the door. Checked the peephole and girded herself.

"Mr. Barba," she said as she opened it.

"Ms. Gable. And…Detective Carisi. Unsurprising."

Carisi glanced at Olivia, brow raised. "I was just headin' down the block to grab some food. You want anything, Counselor?"

"I don't think I'll be here long enough to eat. But thank you."

Carisi shrugged into his coat and paused long enough to give Olivia a kiss. A proprietary sort of kiss, despite its quickness. Neither she nor Barba missed its significance, especially when paired with the look Carisi gave the other man as he went past. "I'll be back in twenty," he said.

"Thanks, Sonny. See you soon." She closed and locked the door behind him, and finally turned to face Barba. "You didn't have to do this," she said.

"Are you insane?!" he demanded, so abruptly that she just stared at him.

"I'm sorry?" she finally managed.

"My mother offered to let you stay with her, you agreed, and now I find out you changed your mind? You're staying  _here_?! The place where you were attacked?  _Twice_?!"

"Okay, well, the first time I wasn't even home, so—"

"Olivia!"

"Don't yell at me, for Christ sake!" she cried.

He took a deep breath and tried again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. I just—I don't understand. Does this have something to do with Carisi?"

"Oh my  _god_!" She spun away and stomped toward the kitchen. She didn't need anything there, she just had to get away from him before she murdered an Assistant District Attorney with her bare hands. "What the fuck is this  _obsession_  you have with Sonny Carisi?! If you want to fuck him, fuck him! I'm not standing in your way!"

"I don't—that's not—" He had to pause and pull himself together yet again. How the hell did this woman get under his skin so easily? He prided himself on being unflappable. Calm when everyone else was freaking the fuck out. Yet five minutes with her and he was losing his damn mind. "Could we please talk about this like rational adults?" he said.

"Could you please stop bringing Carisi into this like a jealous frat bro?" she snapped. She yanked open a cabinet and grabbed a glass. Smacked the tap on and filled it before taking a long pull from it. She swallowed and pressed the glass to her forehead, eyes closed and face creased.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she said. "About your mom. I just—needed to be here. With my cat and my things and my  _space_."

"She isn't insulted," he said, begrudgingly. "She's just worried. And I don't like to see my mother worried."

"I see. So you jumped on your high horse and galloped all the way down here because your  _mom_  is worried."

He glowered at her. "You're not safe here, Olivia. Not as safe as you would be somewhere else. Even if Carisi is going to be hanging around."

"He's not—!" She stopped herself before she could yell at him again. Gently set the glass on the counter and headed for the door. "Mr. Barba. For the five-hundredth time, my personal life is none of your business. I'm sorry you don't approve of who I'm currently fucking, but I don't recall asking you. I appreciate your concern. Thank you for the flowers, and for your kindness earlier, but now I'm asking you to leave."

He watched her as she flipped the locks and turned the knob. She stood holding it open for him with an expectant look on her face. He took two steps in that direction, then stopped.

She sighed. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. She needed him out of her apartment. Now. She couldn't stop thinking about that morning, his arms around her. The softness of his touch as he'd comforted her. He'd called her  _sweetheart_. In Spanish.

"Rafael—"

"Olivia." He approached slowly. Carefully. Took the door in his hand and gently pushed it shut.

"What are you doing?" she said. She fought the urge to back away. His expression was intense, but she wasn't afraid. Not exactly.

"I don't care that it's Carisi," he said. "I care that it's not  _me_."

She let out a breath like she'd been punched in the stomach. "What?" she said on the rough exhale.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and then lifted his palms in a gesture of surrender. "Could we—could we perhaps not fight for thirty seconds? Just…thirty seconds. Where you don't disagree with everything I say."

"You do as much disagreeing as I do!"

He smiled, a little ruefully. "Thirty seconds,  _belleza_. Starting now."

Her eyes seemed to fill her entire face as he stepped closer and rested a hand on her hip. She didn't pull away. Didn't stop him. He took that as permission, and let the hand slide to the small of her back.

"Thirty seconds?" she said, her gaze dropping briefly to his mouth and then flicking back to his eyes.

"That's all," he said. He could see the pulse pounding in her throat. It made his own heartbeat kick up a few notches, his breath catch, and he couldn't manage the reassuring smile he had planned as he closed the last bit of space between them.

"Okay," she breathed, just before he kissed her.

He kept it easy. Light. She was tense at first, but then a hand came up to comb through his hair. It was soft, just like she thought it would be—not that she spent much time thinking about the texture of Rafael Barba's hair. Or his mouth. Though she supposed she would be now, after—

"Stop thinking so hard," he whispered.

"You're one to talk."

"Hush."

He kissed her again, harder, and she melted into him. She sighed against his lips, her breath warm and sweet, and pressed closer. He spread his hand on the small of her back, squeezing a little, and brought the other up to tug at a lock of her hair.

"Olivia," he murmured.

"This is a bad idea," she said. But her cheeks were flushed and her pupils blown. Her lips pinked and swollen.

"Maybe," he said. He kissed her again and took a reluctant step back. "Maybe, but I wanted to give you something to think about."

Her brows drew together and she opened her mouth. Probably to yell at him some more. Normally he'd be entirely game, but he wanted to leave her like this, well-kissed and confused.

"And now I'm leaving before you pull yourself together enough to get mad again." He grinned. "It was a really nice thirty seconds."

Then he was gone, out the door and down the hall and she wasn't about to run after him. What the hell? What the  _hell_?!

She pressed shaking fingers to her tingling lips and sank down on the couch. Not ten minutes ago she'd been kissing Sonny. Now the taste of Rafael Barba filled her mouth and she felt…

She didn't know how she felt.

Angry? Intrigued? Furious? Turned on?

She had no idea how long she sat like that, in full existential crisis mode, when yet another knock on the door interrupted her spiral.

"Hey, Oll, it's me!"

Sonny. Back with the food.

Clearly there was only one way to get her mind off of Barba. She opened the door, grabbed Carisi by the tie, and hauled him inside. "I've decided what I want," she said. "And it's definitely not food."

* * *

Friday morning. There was still no blood sample or other evidence from Richmond, so Liv sent Rollins and Fin down there to knock some heads together. "I don't care if you have to comb their evidence room yourselves; find those files!"

They promised they would do their best and got the next flight out.

That left Benson and Carisi to cover the party at the gallery that night. She wasn't completely comfortable putting Carisi on it, but she didn't have much choice, as understaffed as the squad was.

"So, Loo, am I like your date?"

"That'll be our cover," she said in a dry voice. "That means you'll stick close to me unless you're mingling. Keep your eyes open. You know who we're looking for."

Searches for Peterson's old apprentice, Micah, had turned up Micah Ramirez, thirty-eight, currently living in Trenton. Barely an hour south of Paramus, home of Bill Peterson. Unfortunately he hadn't been to work in a few days, and no one had seen him. He had a habit of taking off, his landlady said, which was why he usually did contract work rather than holding down steady employment. They'd put a BOLO out on his car and his picture was on the wire, but until he turned up that was pretty much a dead end.

Bill Peterson's alibi was looking shakier the harder they dug at it. His physical therapist was his daughter, and she worked out of her home. Peterson was divorced and lived alone, and his daughter's husband was out bowling on the night in question, so he couldn't corroborate his father-in-law's presence. Or lack thereof.

Until they got the evidence from Richmond—assuming there was a DNA sample in the file—or the perp made another move, they were deadlocked. Hence their presence at the opening that night.

"This artist. Sami. Any info about her?" Carisi said.

Benson lifted a brow. "I figured you'd know better than I would."

Carisi blushed. "We don't—uh. We don't really talk that much. About work, I mean."

"Mmm. Probably better. Well, according to Rollins's info, she was one of the first artists Olivia featured when she opened the gallery. Over the last five years she's become successful enough to earn a show at MOMA, opening next week. Apparently the show at Jameson on Franklin is a retrospective of her earlier work. The stuff that helped make her such a star."

"Huh. That's kinda cool." He remembered Olivia mentioning the MOMA exhibit, but he hadn't put the pieces together. Some detective.

"Barba," Liv said. She pushed herself up from where she'd been leaning against Carisi's desk. "Did we have a meeting today?"

Carisi shot a look at the ADA and leaned back in his chair. He had no idea what had happened between Barba and Olivia the other night in her apartment, but Olivia's mood was completely different when he got back with the food. He was almost late to class, and he had to eat in the cab on the way. She'd kept him busy.

"No," Barba said as he cruised to a stop. He offered Benson a brief smile. "I just came down to let you know I'll be at the opening tonight. The DA had a family emergency and O'Dwyer left for vacation yesterday. So he's sending me."

"Ah. It's always nice to have more eyes. They're loaning us a few bodies from Vice, too, but I can use all the help I can get."

"Did Rollins and Fin get anything from the bartender?" he said.

"Nothing new. He confirmed that Olivia and her friend Sara were at the bar Monday night, and credit card receipts show that Olivia had one glass of wine and Sara had a chocolate martini. He said Sara left about nine-thirty—corroborating what she told us—and that Olivia was there for another hour or so. She didn't order another drink, but he did see her with a fresh glass of wine at one point, maybe a half hour before she left," Benson said, ticking each point off on her fingers. "He didn't see anyone talking to her, and he has no idea who ordered that drink. It was a busy night."

Barba ground his teeth together. Where the hell did the bartender think her wine had come from? Outer fucking space?

"Fine," he said. "Well. Keep me informed if anything develops in the next few hours. If we have to, we can get O'Dwyer back from vacation. I'll see you tonight." He turned smartly on his heel and walked out, barely glancing at Carisi as he went by.

"Good afternoon to you too, Counselor," he muttered.


	12. The Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia and Barba have quite the encounter in her office during the big gala.

The last three days had kept Olivia so busy she'd barely had time to think about the attack or anyone associated with it—including Carisi or Barba. She'd been putting in fourteen to fifteen hour days at the gallery, then coming home to collapse; first in a hot bath, and then into her bed.

Her two-day absence had put everything behind schedule despite her staff's heroic work effort. There were things that only she could do, and she couldn't possibly do last-minute approval on flowers through FaceTime.

Finally it was Friday. She'd changed her dress at the last minute to cover up some of the bruises, so instead of the dark blue gown she'd originally chosen, she now wore a tea-length black dress, long-sleeved, cut high at the neck and backless. A thick velvet ribbon covered the bruises on her throat, the ends of it trailing down her bare back like a long necklace. Thick silver bracelets adorned each wrist as extra protection against anyone getting a peek at the marks there.

Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she took one last tour before the doors opened. August looked far more nervous than Olivia felt, and she gave him a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "It looks perfect," she said. "I'm so proud of you."

He grinned and gave her a quick hug, then went to open the doors.

Olivia looped her arm through Sami's as guest began filing in. "Ready?" she said.

She nodded. "Let's mingle."

Sami was a six foot tall Iroquois transwoman. The tiny redhead and the Amazonian Native American stood out in the crowd, and they were quickly surrounded by well-wishers, brown nosers, and the generally curious. Olivia's ordeal had made the news, after all, and the last minute RSVPs had been pouring in all week.

It made Carisi nervous. "Too many people," he muttered to Benson. "Can't get a clear line of sight."

"I don't think anyone's going to mess with her while she's with her bodyguard," Benson said.

"She's not a bodyguard; she's an artist."

"Still. I think between the two of them, they can handle themselves. Relax, Carisi. You look like a cop." She grabbed two bottles of Perrier from a passing waiter and handed one to him. "Drink up. Since we can't enjoy the champagne."

By the time Barba got there the party was in full swing. At first he couldn't find Olivia G; the crowd was too thick; but eventually Olivia B pointed him in the right direction.

"You've had eyes on her all night?" he said, following the beacon of her bright hair from across the room.

"Mmhmm," she said. She gave him a long look. "No sign of anyone we think could be our perp. So far everyone here is accounted for on the guest list. And all the catering staff checks out, too."

He scowled a little as a man stopped Olivia with a hand on her arm and began to question her about one of the paintings. She smiled at him. Laughed at a joke he told. Gave his forearm a squeeze and walked away.

"Walk around a bit," Benson said. "Give me your take on the crowd."

Barba nodded, still not letting Olivia out of his sight. "Sure," he said. "I'll be back."

He made his slow way through the gallery, pausing now and then to get a closer look at a painting or one of the small sculptures. A portrait caught his eye, and he found himself coming back to it again and again: a pale-skinned redhead sat with her back to the artist. She was nude. Her head was turned, chin lifted, and the expression on her face was poignant, a subtle mixture of longing and sweetness that touched his heart.

"It's me," she said from over his shoulder.

He turned a little to look at her and smiled. "Yes. I recognized you."

"There's a whole series. I'm…not a fan, personally, but they were part of an early show of hers we hosted, so this one made it to the retrospective." She stepped up beside him and he caught a brief whiff of her expensive, subtle perfume. "I think Sami really started to come into her own when she switched to portraiture. The  _Home_  series in room 2 is my favorite. The women in those are all her sisters and cousins and aunts."

"I enjoyed those as well," he said. "But I keep coming back to this one."

She made a low noise, but said nothing. He could see her from the corner of his eye, and while he'd never seen a look on her face like the one captured in the painting, the small, even features and delicate coloring were exactly the same. And, he noticed, that one stubborn line that appeared between her brows when she was thinking particularly hard about something.

The line was there now, and he wondered what had prompted its appearance.

"You look lovely this evening," he said before the silence between them could grow uncomfortable.

"Thank you. I had to improvise a bit, thanks to…this week's excitement, but I think it worked out."

"It did. Very well. Speaking of…" He tilted his head toward her and reached to rest his fingertips lightly against her bare back. He had been itching to touch her all night, and maybe now was the wrong time, but he couldn't resist the urge any longer. "Do I owe you an apology for my behavior the last time we spoke?"

Her mouth quirked. "You mean your rudeness, or the kiss?"

"Either," he said.

She considered him for a bit. Reached out to tweak his tie, then smoothed it. "Yes to the first, no to the second. Enjoy the show, Mr. Barba. I should get back to my other guests." With a cool smile, she slipped away and he lost her in the crowd.

He sighed and grabbed a flute of champagne (he wasn't technically working) and mingled a bit. Someone introduced him to Sami, and he asked her about the Olivia series. She gave a deep, delighted laugh.

"Getting her to pose was like herding cats, but it was worth it. I wanted her nude—not because she has a beautiful body, though she does—but because…well. She'd kill me for saying it, but she armors herself. Constantly. Hair, clothes, makeup. Attitude. I wanted her natural. The pageant girl grown up and stripped down, but not in a sexual way."

"No, it doesn't come across as at all sexual to me. Sensual, in a way, but not sexual. There's a part of me that feels like it should be voyeuristic, seeing someone so vulnerable, but somehow it doesn't."

She tapped her nose and winked at him. "That's because it wasn't created with men in mind."

"That would make a difference," he said, returning her smile. "I was wondering…is the one in this show for sale?"

Sami hesitated, her expression clouding. "I'm sorry, Olivia usually doesn't like me to sell them. You could ask her. If she says yes, then…maybe not that one. It's my favorite. But there are others in the series I could show you." She opened her silver clutch and pulled out a card. "This is my number, and the address of my studio. Talk to Olivia, then give me a call."

"I'll do that," he said. He studied the card a moment before tucking it into his jacket. "Thank you. I look forward to speaking with you."

Someone pulled her away and Barba was left to his own devices again. He began to look for Olivia, hoping to ask her about the painting, but he couldn't find her. The party was starting to wind down a bit, the crowd thinning, so she should have been easy to spot.

Fear began to worm its way through his gut as he went from room to room and didn't see her. Didn't hear her laugh or catch a hint of her scent. Where was she? Where were Benson and Carisi, or the vice cops?

Finally he rounded a corner and nearly smacked into Liv. "Where is she?" he said. He grabbed her arm, tugging her to the edge of the smaller crowd. "I can't find her."

"Relax, Barba. She stepped into her office for a few minutes. We've got guys on the back entrance and someone in the hallway. She's fine."

He glowered at her and stalked away, heading for the doorway marked  _staff only_  he'd spotted earlier. An obvious cop was standing there trying to look like not-a-cop, but Barba identified himself and he let him through. He knocked on the office door and was relieved when she called for him to come in.

She was stretched out on a leather chesterfield, her shoes kicked off and a glass of something cool held to her forehead. She opened her eyes, then sat up quickly when she saw who it was.

"Oh," she said. "I—um. I just needed a little break from all the noise and the people. Head kind of hurts."

He gently shut the door behind him. "I was worried when I didn't see you. Benson told me you were in here."

"So you came looking?" she said, lifting a brow.

"Yes, well. I wanted to see for myself."

Her lips curled. She glanced down at her drink and swirled the liquid in the glass. "Make yourself something if you'd like," she said, gesturing toward the wet bar. "I suppose I don't mind a bit of company."

"Even mine?" he said.

"Even yours, Mr. Barba." But her smile was soft, and he could tell there wasn't any heat behind her words.

He poured a whisky and sat at the other end of the couch. She stretched her legs out again, crossing them primly at the ankle, and leaned against the chesterfield's tall arm. They both drank, relishing the quiet. He didn't care for crowds either, and it was hot out in the gallery.

"Are you enjoying the show?" she said, her voice pitched low so that the silence was broken gently.

"Mmm," he said. He glanced at her and smiled. "She's an impressive talent. The retrospective idea is smart ahead of the MOMA exhibit."

She gave a quiet laugh and sipped her drink. "I'm good at what I do, Mr. Barba. Believe it or not."

"Of course you are," he said. He raised a hand to scratch at his temple, and then idly let it fall. It landed on the leather just by her feet. After a moment's hesitation, he traced the delicate bones in her ankle with a fingertip. She watched him with steady eyes, her gaze never leaving his face.

"I'm not very good at expressing myself, Ms. Gable. Strange, for a lawyer, but…I suppose I get it all out in court, and there's nothing left for my personal life."

Her look was considering as she continued to study him. "What is it you're struggling to express, Mr. Barba?"

His hand closed around her ankle, strong thumb massaging the tendon just below the knob of bone. It felt incredible after a long night in heels. "Call me  _Rafael_ , Olivia. Please."

She let out a tiny sigh, and when she looked at him again her eyes were all pupil. "Rafael. Is that better?"

"Much," he murmured. He set his drink on the table and leaned toward her, reaching to cup her face in his hand. She met him halfway, her own glass discarded, and their mouths came together with alcohol-flavored gasps and soft sighs.

She curled her legs underneath her so she could scoot closer. He pressed a hand against her bare back, his palm warm on her skin. The kiss started out soft and easy, but in no time it deepened. He sucked at her full lower lip. Ran his tongue across it until her mouth opened and she whimpered at the hot taste of him.

Suddenly she pulled away. He started to speak, but she pressed a finger against his reddened mouth. "Don't move," she said.

She went to the door and flipped the lock, then came back to slide into his lap. He pushed her skirt up a little so he could stroke her thighs while her arms went around his neck. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair and he kissed her again, harder and deeper, until they were both panting.

He tugged at his bowtie and she unbuttoned his tuxedo shirt. Kissed his chest and sank her teeth into his shoulder. He stroked her back. Squeezed her ass through the soft material of her dress. She slid off his lap and smirked at him as she reached under her skirt and pulled her panties down.

The scrap of lace landed in his lap and he looked up at her with a heated smile. Not dropping her eyes, he carefully folded the panties and tucked them into his jacket. She shivered and dove at him. He sat forward, catching her face in his hands and kissing hungrily. She went for his belt and he helped unbuckle it, then lifted his hips to shove his pants down.

He pulled her back into his lap, rucking her skirt up more forcefully this time, and he could feel the heat of her though his cotton shorts.

" _Cariña_ ," he breathed. " _Belleza_ ,  _princesa_."

She wiggled in his lap until she was sitting just right, his hard length pressed between her lips, and moaned against his mouth. "Is this what you were struggling to express, Mr. Barba?"

"Getting there," he whispered. "Am I being clearer now?"

"Much." She rocked against him, dug her nails into his scalp. They both moaned, their mouths so close together they could feel each other's breath.

Neither spoke again for a while. She moved slowly at first, but as her wetness seeped through his shorts, slicking the material, she picked up speed. He had one hand under her dress, kneading and squeezing her round ass, while the other cradled her back. He couldn't stop kissing her, couldn't get enough of the feel of her lips and taste of her tongue. He nipped and bit at the pulse in her throat and flicked his tongue along her collarbones when they peeked from the top of her dress.

"Fuck!" she panted. "Oh fuck, I'm—" She bit her lip, hard, and her head fell back on a soft moan.

"Look at me," he rasped. "Look at me when you come,  _niñita_."

Her chin dropped. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and nipped at her kiss-swollen lips with his. She mouthed his name, soundlessly, and ground against his erection in an urgent, aching rhythm.

"Good," he said, biting along her jaw. "That's good, good girl, don't stop."

"Yes! Fuck, Rafael, I—yes!" She shuddered, and when she went still he grabbed her hips and yanked her down, rocking up against her to coax the orgasm higher. Deeper. Longer. At last it began to wane, and she fell against him with several sharp gasps.

"Holy shit," she managed.

He laughed, kissing her temple and stroking her hair. "I was thinking the same."

She looked up at him and kissed his jaw. "Do you need—? I could suck you off."

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "No,  _princesa_ , this was about you. I can wait."

Lifting a brow, she wiggled a little. "Are you sure? You feel awfully worked up to me."

"I am," he murmured. "Very. But I'm also patient. And I can wait."

They kissed a little longer, and then a discreet knock came at the door. "Olivia? Sami's looking for you. It's really thinning out out here."

"Okay, Augie," she called. "I'll be right there."

She smiled at Barba. "I guess that's my cue," she said.

"Unfortunately." He helped her stand and fix her dress. She smoothed his jacket, buttoned his shirt, and re-tied his tie.

"Can I have my panties back?" she said.

"If you insist." He started to reach into his jacket, but she stopped him with a hand on his.

"Keep them," she said. "Give them back…next time I see you, maybe."

"Whatever you say, Ms. Gable." He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "You know how to find me."

Her lips curved and she gently disengaged. Headed for the door and cast one last look over her shoulder. "It's Olivia. Though the Spanish is nice too."

He watched her leave, his expression unreadable, and after a few moments he followed. For the rest of the evening it was as though the interlude in her office hadn't happened.

Except for the scrap of lace in his pocket, and the way her eyes skimmed past him, caught, and returned with a tiny, secret smile just for him.

Barba supposed, as he watched her work the room, that he owed his mother an apology. She'd been right all along, and he'd been the stubborn idiot who refused to see it.


	13. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia tells Sonny about what happened at the gala, and later he makes a surprising suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far today, loves, because it was either this or two mini-chapters before the Barba Sex. Which will happen in ch14 for those counting.

It was nearly three AM before Olivia was finally able to leave the gallery and head for home. Carisi had stuck around the entire night, waiting patiently while the catering team packed up, Olivia's staff rearranged the flowers, and Olivia tallied the night's sales.

He finally wandered back toward her office around two forty-five. "You about ready?" he said.

She smiled at him, her eyes tired. "You can go. Really. I can call for a car."

"You know what I'm gonna say to that." He walked behind her chair to rub her shoulders. His hands were strong, his slender fingers sensitive, and she relaxed into his touch.

"Okay," she said. "You've convinced me. Let's go. These numbers are starting to blur together anyway. I'm going to have to do redo everything tomorrow."

He held out a hand and she slid her palm into his. He helped her stand and held her steady while she put her shoes on. The building was dark as they walked toward the back entrance; she'd sent everyone else home over an hour ago.

"I'm tired," she said as she typed the alarm code in wrong and had to try again.

"Oh yeah?" he said, grinning. "Wonder why?"

She elbowed him and led him out the door. He hovered just behind her, his gaze darting up and down the alley, as she locked up behind them.

In the car she let her head fall back and her eyes close. The city was quiet this time of night, even on a Friday, and she enjoyed the soft swish of the tires and quiet muttering of the radio. She must've fallen asleep, because it seemed like only a blink later and Carisi was nudging her.

"C'mon," he said. "I'll walk you up."

She gave him a sleepy nod and he took her hand again, leading her inside and to the elevator. She leaned against him and fought the urge to take her shoes off. Not much longer.

"You can come in if you want," she said, sliding her key into the lock. "You can stay. But the only thing I'm gonna do is sleep."

"You sure?" he said. "Not about the sleepin' thing. You're like eighty percent asleep right now. I meant about me stayin'."

She went up on her toes to plant an easy kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, cutie," she said. "Let's go to bed."

Fast forward two hours and Carisi snored softly next to her. She was exhausted, bone-deep tired in a way she couldn't remember being before…but sleep wouldn't come. She couldn't stop thinking about Barba. Kissing him. Tasting him. Rocking on his cock until she came so goddamn hard.

She turned over for the hundredth time. He still had her panties. She'd told him to give them back next time she saw him, which meant she wanted to see him again. Privately. More privately than her office in the middle of an opening.

She turned the other way and snuggled closer to Carisi. He smelled good, like toothpaste and clean laundry and the aftershave he wore.

She wished he smelled like Rafael.

No, that wasn't exactly true. She liked Sonny. A lot. They had a good time, and it was easy. Nothing like the intensity she had with Barba. They'd never fought, really. The sex was fantastic. He made her laugh.

So why was she lying awake at five in the morning after one of the most stressful weeks of her life thinking about someone else? Someone she wasn't one hundred percent sure she even  _liked_?

Remembering the scene in her office that night made her tingly. She wanted more: more of his hands and his mouth. His voice rough in her ear. She wanted him inside her, on top of her, beneath her.

Her eyes closed and she let out a long breath. Next to her Carisi stirred. Lifted his head.

"Babe?" he mumbled. "You still awake?"

"Shh, sugar. Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you up."

He reached for her and wrapped an arm around her waist. Pulled her against him and kissed her shoulder. "What's wrong?" he said.

"Nothing. I think I'm just wound up after the week I've had."

"Hmm." He nuzzled into the curve of her neck. "Wanna talk about it?"

"It's five AM and you're barely awake," she said, stroking his arm. "We can talk in the morning."

"Hate to break it to ya, doll, but it  _is_  morning."

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. Work today?"

"Nope. Free the whole day. Guess you gotta go in?"

"We open at two." She turned over to face him and nestled in against his chest. He was so warm. His hair stuck out every which way and his face was soft with sleep. Looking at him like this made her feel all squishy inside. "Sonny…I think there's something I should tell you."

He wiggled a little, settling her more comfortably in the curve of his arm. "What's up?" he said. "You sound worried."

"I…" She didn't want to tell him. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, and she had no idea how he was going to react. "Something happened tonight."

Suddenly he looked wide awake. "Peterson? Somethin' with the case?"

"No, nothing like that. It—shit, Sonny, look. I know we've talked about this, and we both agree we don't want anything serious, but I'm not entirely sure just how casual we actually are."

He took a deep breath, his brow furrowing deeper while he studied her. "Just tell me, little bird. We'll figure it out."

The sweet nickname made her smile. She cupped his face in her hand and kissed him softly. "I had to take a break during the party. Get away from the crowd."

"Yeah, I know. I lost you for a minute, but Liv knew where you were. Apparently she sent—" He broke off, and the last bit of nighttime haze left his eyes. "She sent Barba to check on you," he said, slowly.

"Yeah," she said.

"Okay. So…you kissed him?"

"A little more than that."

He blinked. "You  _fucked_  him?!"

"No! I mean—um. No?" She waved a hand at his nonplussed expression. "We didn't have sex. I sort of…I guess you could say I gave him a lap dance? Um…humped him? But he had his underwear on and I was the only one who came."

"You…" He fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He looked sort of shellshocked.

"Sonny?" she said, nudging him.

"We aren't exclusive," he finally said. "We aren't…a couple…or anything. I mean, you're not my girlfriend. You didn't cheat on me. I don't—I don't think of it like that."

She chewed on her lower lip and studied his face. "But?"

Sighing, he propped himself on an elbow and looked at her. Touched her cheek with gentle fingers. "I don't know. Maybe…tell me next time? Like, before it happens?"

"I didn't plan it. Obviously. It was the middle of the party!"

"Yeah, nah, I get that. I just didn't expect…Barba? I thought you hated Barba."

"You're the one who told me to give him another chance."

He flashed a brief grin. "That's not quite what I had in mind, babe."

"No. I guess not." Her eyes drifted until eventually she focused on the blanket between them. "Are you mad?"

He gave the question serious consideration. She appreciated that. "No, I'm not mad. I want—" He blew out a long breath and grimaced. "I want you to be happy, Oll. If that's with me, then great. If not? I guess I can't have everything."

"You do make me happy, Sonny. I don't even know what happened. We were talking, and then he kissed me and I kissed him back and next thing I knew.…" She trailed off with a shrug.

"You're not my girlfriend. You're allowed to kiss whoever you want." He used a finger to lift her chin. "I just—geez, Oll, I can't compete with Barba!"

"What?" she said, her face scrunching. "What're you talking about?"

"He's a Manhattan ADA! He went to Harvard! He speaks more than one language, and did you know he can sing? Like, really good! I'm just a sex crimes detective from Staten Island. I go to law school part time and I'm an okay cook."

"Sonny…" She was so thrown she couldn't even formulate a response. Finally she combed a hand into his hair and tugged him to her for a rough, hungry kiss. It went on and on, and when it eventually broke they were both panting. "That is the dopiest thing I've ever heard anyone say in my entire life," she said.

"Wha…?" He blinked like he'd been hit over the head.

"First of all, it's not a competition. I want to say there's nothing between Barba and me, but apparently that's not true. So I guess I'll settle for…I don't  _know_  what's between Barba and me, but it isn't anything you have to worry about competing with. What happened tonight was…crazy, but I'm not exactly myself lately. I know I like you. I like what we've got. I don't want things to change between you and me."

He ducked his head, blushing a little. "I don't want things to change, either. We got a real good vibe goin'."

"Uh huh." She kissed him again. "A chill sorta vibe."

"I was thinkin' groovy. A groovy vibe."

She giggled. "God you're such a dork."

"Hey! It's too early to be callin' me names!"

"Hmmm." She slid a hand down his body and into his shorts. "What else is it too early for?" she murmured, her lips brushing his.

"Never too early for that, baby doll," he said on a ragged breath.

"Always on duty, Detective Carisi," she said.

"To protect and serve, sweet thing," he said, rolling them over so that he was on top of her. "It's a twenty-four hour job." He pushed her shirt up and she wiggled out of it.

"Uh huh." She ran her fingers through his hair, tousling the curls and stroking the bit of gray at each temple. "You're so dedicated, Detective."

"Someone's gotta do it." He bit her lower lip. Sucked, then captured her mouth in a heated kiss. "Fuck you taste good."

"Mmmm so do you," she breathed. "Tell me what you want, sweet boy."

He shoved his shorts down and guided her hand to his cock. "You," he said, the word turning into a moan as she stroked him. "Wanna fuck you, baby doll. Make you come. Wanna be inside you so fuckin' deep."

He pulled her hand back up and kissed her fingers. Started to work his way down her body, spending a while on her nipples with teeth and tongue and lips. She gasped his name and he moved on, to lick and nibble the swell of her tummy.

"Don't do that!" she said. "I've been stress eating since the break-in."

"It's cute. Cute little pudgy tummy." He sucked hard enough to leave a deep red mark, then kissed all over.

"Sonny!" She tugged at his hair, but he just grinned and kept kissing. Soon she was giggling and trying to wiggle away, but he grabbed her and flipped her onto her stomach before giving her back and ass the same treatment.

"Love this sweet round ass too." He smacked it lightly and bit it. Ran his tongue along the edge of her panties.

"Sonny!" she said again, this time rougher and breathlessly.

He rolled her over again and gripped a handful of her hair. Kissed her hard, squeezing her hips and rocking against her.

She fumbled in the nightstand drawer with her free hand till she found a condom. "Need you so bad, baby boy!" She ripped the package open and rolled it up the hard length of him, then helped him strip off her panties.

He kissed along her collarbones and the curve of her shoulders. Bit a spot just above her breast and sucked. She moaned, her back arching, and he pulled her legs up around his hips.

"Please!" she gasped. "Sonny, now!"

"You wet for me, little bird?" he said, nipping and kissing at her jaw. "All slick and ready?"

"Yes! Please!"

He pressed a hand between her thighs, stroking her lips and dipping between them, until she whined and squirmed. "Detective!"

The urgency in her voce made his cock throb and his pulse spike. He kissed her again, roughly, and eased into her. He knew she wanted it hard and fast, but he wasn't quite done teasing her. He wanted to hear her beg. "Is that what you need, doll? You need my cock in you just like that?"

"Yeah, yes, like that! Fuck me, Detective, please!" she cried.

"Mmmm lemme hear it again," he said as he pulled out and slowly slid back in.

She dug her nails into his scalp and rolled her hips. "Fuck! Please, Sonny, please, Detective Carisi, fuck me!"

He took a deep breath. Pulled out to the tip. And thrust back in again, hard, before setting a rough, driving rhythm that had her writhing beneath him. "Like that?" he rasped, breathlessly.

"Don't stop!" She couldn't believe how turned on she was, how electrified she felt. She tugged at his hair and bit his throat when his chin lifted and kissed his dimples when he grinned at her. He was so deep, so  _fucking_  deep, and she couldn't get enough.

"Feel so good, baby doll, so goddamn good," he mumbled.

"Yeah, fuck, I love it, I love it!" she said. Her hips moved to meet him each time and soon she felt heat licking her thighs and vibrating through her belly. "It's good, I'm close, fuck it's so good!"

He kissed all over her face. Sucked hard on her full lower lip. "Already came once tonight, bad girl. Maybe I should just keep teasin' ya, not let you come again."

She whined, her eyes going wide. "You're too sweet to do that to me, Detective. You always give me exactly what I need."

He groaned and pressed his face into the curve of her neck. He gripped her thighs. Her hips. Pulled her against him with each downward thrust. He could feel her legs trembling around him and he knew she was right on the edge.

"Come for me, baby doll," he said, his soft lips warm on her throat. "Come on my cock, come with me deep inside ya."

She loved how his accent thickened when he was strung out like this, wrecked and needy and aching. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him just as the wave crested and the orgasm rocked through her.

"Yes Sonny yes baby fuck yes!" she cried. She clung to him, riding the hot, blissful rush of it, and they both moaned as she squeezed him deep inside.

"Fuck that's so good, so sweet!" he said. "Love that, little bird, can't get enough!" His hips jerked and his head fell back as his own climax took him, and for a long time neither of them had breath to speak.

He pulled out and tugged the condom off. Tied it and tossed it toward the trashcan. Miraculously he made the shot. Grinning, he snuggled down next to her and licked a trickle of sweat off her temple.

"Good, baby?" he said.

"Uh huh. Very." She turned toward him and kissed him, slow and languid this time. "Always good with you, sweet boy."

"Yeah?" He nuzzled her nose with his. "So you gonna keep me?"

"Hmmm…I think so. You don't shed. You clean up after yourself. Sometimes you bring me the paper."

"Woof woof," he said.

"That's you. My sunshine puppy." She snuggled against his chest and felt her eyelids getting heavy. "I think I might try to sleep a little," she said as she fought a yawn.

"That's a good idea."

"You'll be here when I wake up?" she murmured, her voice already going thick with sleep.

"Yeah, babe. I'll be right here."

* * *

Monday morning Olivia texted Carisi to ask him to lunch. She hastily added "sandwiches in the park" so he wouldn't think she meant sex. He was quick to agree, especially after seeing the second text. It wasn't that he was opposed to a nooner with his sexy not-girlfriend; he just liked the idea of hanging out in a public place with her. Chatting. Almost like a date. A casual, lunch-in-the-park date.

She was already there when he jogged up, and he bent to kiss her before dropping down on the bench and taking the bag she offered. "Man, can't believe it's so nice out," he said. It was the first week in February, but temps were pushing sixty and the sun shone bright in the sky.

"I know," she said with a smile. "I couldn't stay cooped up in my office another second. I'm losing my mind, and we're only one weekend into the show."

He grinned and unwrapped his sandwich. It was his favorite Italian club from a deli near her gallery. She even got the banana peppers he liked. He took a bite, nodding his approval, and sipped from the bottle of tea she handed him.

"It's goin' good, though?" he said. "Lots of people through the doors?"

"Mmhmm. I mean, I bitch about the headache, but I'd be bitching way harder if we'd flopped. Did you see the write-up in the Sunday  _Times_?"

"Hell yeah I did. Meant to text you about it, but I guess I forgot." In truth he hadn't wanted to smother her; they'd spent Friday night together and most of Saturday morning, until she'd had to be at work, and he'd seen her briefly again Saturday night as he checked in to make sure all was well.

They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the sunshine and the company. He kept sneaking surreptitious glances at her. He loved the way her coppery hair glinted in the sun, and how the light brought out her freckles and brightened her green eyes. When she smiled just right a dimple appeared in her chin; he wanted to kiss it every time.

"You look real pretty today," he finally said.

"Do I?" She smiled (the dimple-making one) and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "You're sweet. I think it's the stress and lack of sleep. It's giving me a glow."

"That's gotta be it," he said, grinning.

"So listen," she said. Her tone made him sit up a little straighter. "I wanted to talk to you…it's not a big deal, more like…well. You asked me to…" She gave a frustrated sigh. "I'm going by Barba's office today. Maybe it's an inappropriate location, but I figured it's less suggestive than asking him to coffee or something."

His brow furrowed and he made a production of picking at his sandwich. "Oh yeah?" he said, striving to sound casual. "Inappropriate for what?"

"I'm going to tell him that what happened Friday night was a one-off. A weird sort of…deviation from the norm. It's not something that will happen again, and really why would it? We don't have occasion to run into each other outside of, maybe, accidentally at the precinct. Another ADA is handling my case—if it ever fucking  _gets_  that far—and we don't generally run in the same social circles. I'd never even met him before his mother set us up."

Carisi frowned and cut his eyes at her. "Okay, first of all, it's gonna get that far. We're workin' on some leads now. Rollins and Fin brought the case files back from Virginia, including blood samples, so we've got Peterson's DNA now. His alibi is lookin' thin, and we're trackin' down Micah Ramirez."

"Carisi. Focus."

He waved a hand. "Yeah, I know, not the point. I'm just tellin' you. We're workin' it hard, babe. I mean—I'm not. But they are. I'm tied to a desk."

"Kinky." She gave him a fond smile and pressed a kiss to one of his dimples. "I know you are. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just—it's like this weight, you know? I try not to think about it, to just focus on work or whatever, and I can't. Not completely. And it would be dangerous if I could, because I have to keep watching. Like, all the time." She rubbed her forehead with a sigh. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Yeah, I get that. Sometimes police work can be real slow, but I swear we're makin' progress. Just hang in there, okay?"

Smiling, she gave him a light punch on the arm. "Thanks for the pep talk, coach. It's just what I needed."

"Ha ha. Smart ass." He cleared his throat. "Anyway. I think you should have sex with Barba."

She choked on her gulp of tea and almost shot it out her nose. "Excuse me?" she eventually managed.

He passed her a napkin. "I'm serious. Look, whatever happened Friday night, obviously…there's somethin' between you two, like you said before. And I know we haven't been doin' this long, but I'm good at readin' people. You gotta get physical before you can figure out how you feel about somebody. That's just you, Oll. Nothin' wrong with it."

"I don't—Sonny, I don't  _feel_  anything for Rafael Barba!"

"Yeah, you keep sayin' that…but then it's like you two keep circlin' around each other. And we always seem to have really great sex after you've had a showdown with him."

Olivia wasn't sure he'd noticed that. But of course he had: he was smart, and observant, and just because someone was sweet and kind didn't mean they were a doormat. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean—"

"Hey, no, don't do that. I didn't mean it like that. I was just sayin'." He smirked. "Besides, if somebody's gonna reap the benefits of you fightin' with Barba, it might as well be me. Babe, listen: if you don't  _wanna_  sleep with him, obviously don't. But I think you do, and I think you'll feel better after. At least a little more settled."

She frowned down at her food. "That's quite a theory, Detective Carisi."

"Yeah, well, I'm real good at my job," he said with an insouciant shrug.

"Now who's a smart ass?"

"Still you. It's cute; a real nice, smart ass."

"Silly," she said, leaning in for a kiss. He obliged her, and they lingered over it for several long heartbeats. He tasted spicy, from his sandwich, and sweet, from his tea. It was a combination that worked for her, and she found herself regretting their public location.

When they finally pulled apart they were both flushed. She fiddled with the lid on her drink and eyed him almost shyly. "I'm not sure, to answer your question."

"Which one? About whether you wanna bang Barba?"

He said it almost like  _Borbo_ , which made her nose crinkle in amusement. "Yeah, about that. I know I won't be banging him in his office this afternoon, so that's something."

He balled up his empty sandwich paper and shoved it in the bag. "You gotta do what makes you happy, little bird." His arm was flung out along the back of the bench, and she nestled in under it. The sun was nice, but she was starting to get cold anyway.

"You speak French, right?" he said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"Mmhmm," she murmured. "Required for my MFA."

"Well there ya go. Speak French at him; he'll drop his drawers so fast he won't know what hit him."

She giggled. "You spend a lot of time thinking about how to seduce ADA Barba, Detective?"

"Nah; but I do spend a lot of time thinkin' about you and French things. Speakin' French." He kissed her nose. "French kisses." Her forehead. "French lingerie." The curve of her ear. "French pastry."

Their lips met for a moment until she pulled away, her face scrunched. "Now I want a chocolate croissant."

He sighed and pushed to his feet. "Come on," he said, holding out a hand to her. "I know a place. Then I gotta get back to work for more desk ridin'."

"Again, kinky."

"Stop that. You got a one-track mind."

She snorted. "You're the one who suggested I fuck an ADA."

"Not just any ADA; a specific one, who you already showed interest in fuckin'," he said, elbowing her a little.

"Mmm," she said and looped her arm through his. "That's a point, I guess. Plus O'Dwyer is married."

"Geez, woman, you're gonna have half the cops and lawyers in the city recused from your case if you keep this up."

"Hush. I'm perfectly happy where I am, thank you."

Grinning broadly, he looked down at her, all bright hair and pale skin and golden freckles. "Yeah," he said, his voice quiet, accent thick. "I know exactly what you mean."


	14. Papi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barba sex. Several of the tags come into play here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucked up a little: I forgot about the scene at the beginning of this at the bar, so I really should've divided ch13 differently, but. Oops. Now y'all get a monster chapter with a lot o' fuckin.

Olivia decided to call him rather than dropping by his office. He might be in a meeting or in court, and it was probably better to not see him in person. In person he could touch her. Kiss her. She could smell his expensive cologne and see that particular little half-smile he wore sometimes.

She shivered and dialed his BlackBerry. He answered after only two rings.

"Ms. Gable," he said, his voice warm. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You can call me  _Olivia_ ," she said. "I thought I made that clear the other night."

"I could," he said, "but I'd rather save that for special occasions."

She sighed. Impossible man. She had been considering Sonny's suggestion for most of the afternoon, and ultimately she had rejected it. At least mostly. Still, she decided they could at least be civil to one another. Maybe even friends.

With that idea in mind, she took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you have any plans this evening, Mr. Barba. If you're free for a drink."

"Hmm." She heard the sound of papers flipping. "I am free, as a matter of fact. And I believe I have a personal item of yours I need to return."

"I—" She froze. Heat blazed across her cheeks and prickled in her tummy. "Yes," she finally said. "I suppose you do."

"Tonight then?" he murmured. "Where would you like to meet?"

She closed her eyes. This had been a terrible idea. "You pick the place. I'm trying to be as unpredictable as possible."

"Of course." He mulled it over a few moments, then named a spot in the Village. She was a little surprised, but in a pleasant way. "Does eight work for you?"

"Eight sounds perfect. I'll see you then." She disconnected without letting him get the last word and stared down at her phone. "You, Olivia Gable, are a fucking idiot," she said aloud.

She dropped the offending piece of technology into her bag and vowed to never call anyone again as long as she lived. Ever.

Olivia stayed at the gallery until her meeting (she refused to call it a date, because it wasn't) with Barba, and due to a chatty client she was almost late. She quickly paid the cab and hurried into the quiet, darkened restaurant. A glance around and she saw him at the bar.

"Hi," she said as she joined him. "I'm so sorry. I got caught up at work."

He smiled and indicated the stool next to him. "No worries. I haven't been here long. Can I get you something?"

She glanced down at what looked like bourbon in his glass. "Whatever you're having," she said.

He gestured toward the bartender, pointed at his drink, and held up two fingers. Meanwhile she slipped her coat off and draped it on the back of the stool. When he turned his attention to her again he had to pause and take a sip before he could think clearly.

Though she was obviously dressed for work, there was something about the simple black pencil skirt and the way it hugged her hips that made his mouth go dry. She'd paired it with a man's-style blue and white striped shirt and tall black boots that stopped just below the knee. She hopped onto the stool and crossed one leg over the other before offering the bartender a smile of thanks as he set her drink in front of her.

Barba waited until the bartender had wandered off before he spoke again. "You look delicious," he murmured.

Color bloomed across her cheeks. "I'm sorry.  _Delicious_?"

"Mmhm." He sipped. "Good enough to nibble."

"I came straight from work," she said with a little frown.

"I can tell." He gave her that damn half-smile. "What can I say? It works for me."

"What a relief," she said with a lift of her brow. "I was afraid my sartorial choices might be a problem for you."

He snorted a laugh. "Always ready with the comeback, Ms. Gable."

"Please.  _Olivia_. And it's a point of pride."

"Are you hungry, Olivia?" he said, carefully enunciating her name. "We could get a table."

She looked around. It was Monday night, and the restaurant wasn't very crowded. The tables were dimly lit. Private. Romantic, one might say.

Not at all the vibe she was going for, but at the same time, having this conversation at the bar seemed awkward. And she was half-starving; it had been a long time since sandwiches in the park with Sonny.

"Or…" She finished off her drink and made an abrupt, probably foolish decision. "We could skip the table and go back to my place for takeout."

He looked only mildly surprised. "Are you propositioning me, Ms. Gable?"

"Possibly, Mr. Barba. I haven't decided."

He stood and grabbed his coat. "You can consider it further on the way. Let's go."

She wasn't a woman who usually enjoyed being bossed around, but something about his commanding tone sent a little thrill sizzling through her. He helped her with her coat and hailed a cab once they got outside.

They were quiet during the ride. She rested her hand on the seat between them, and after a few moments his bigger palm landed gently on top of it. He curled his fingers a little, entwining them with hers, and still neither of them spoke. She turned her head to look at him, and in the shifting lights from outside she could make out something almost wistful in his expression.

She wanted him. It was stupid to try to deny it, and what was the point? She wanted him, and he seemed to want her, so why make herself crazy fighting it? Sonny was right: she needed to fuck him and either get it out of her system, or else figure out what exactly she wanted from him.

He lifted his hand off of hers to brush it over the line between her brows. "You're thinking very hard about something."

"I was thinking—about you."

"That's good to know, since you're looking at me."

Her mouth curved a little and she leaned in to give him a soft kiss. He pulled back, surprise lifting his brows. "What was that for?" he said.

She shrugged. "I just thought it would be nice." A quick, teasing grin. "It was."

"I can do better," he said.

"Oh?" She scooted closer even as he reached for her. "Prove it, Mr. Barba."

"I think it's time you called me  _Rafael_ …Olivia." And then he kissed her, and she didn't have a chance to say anything else for a while.

* * *

"Want you now,  _belleza_ ," he mumbled against her neck as she fumbled for the lock on her front door.

She shivered and finally managed to get the key in. They tumbled inside, his arms locked around her and their mouths fused together. "Just a sec," she said, pulling away. "Hold that thought."

Baloo appeared from the bedroom. He paused when he saw Barba and approached slowly, tail raised in a question.

"Olivia," Barba said. "What the hell is that?"

She glanced over her shoulder from where she was flipping the locks on the door. "He's a cat, Barba. Haven't you seen a cat before?"

"It looks like a walking storm cloud. With teeth." He frowned as Baloo decided he was maybe okay after all and rubbed against his leg. "Does it shed?"

"Of course he sheds. Look at his hair!" She picked him up and kissed the top of his head. "Okay, fat boy, supper time." She smiled at Barba. "You can hang your coat over there. I promise he won't shed on it."

She set the cat down in the kitchen and poured kibble in his bowl. Checked to make sure his water dish was full and scratched between his ears. He ignored her. "Missed you too, bub. Have a good supper. And don't claw any of Rafael's things, okay?" She stopped to pour a couple of glasses of wine, then rejoined Barba in the living room.

He took the glass from her with a brief smile. "Did you find it on the side of the road somewhere? Escaped from a zoo, maybe?"

"He's a Norwegian Forest Cat. They're big."

"Ahh, so you got him from a forest in Norway. Like a fairy tale princess wrestling the dragon and bringing it home to sleep on the living room rug."

"More like a rescue group in Jersey," she said. She sat on the couch and curled her legs underneath her. "His mother died from milk fever, and the owner didn't want to hand-raise the kittens, so they gave them all to a shelter. The rescue group pulled them, bottle fed them until they could eat solid food, and I got him when he was just six weeks old. You wouldn't believe how tiny he was."

Waving a hand, she grinned a little. "Anyway. That was ten years ago, and here I am: single mother struggling to raise a boy who eats her out of house and home."

"Ha. My mother said the same about me."

"What were you like as a kid?" she said. "Were you serious? Smart, of course. Did bullies make you do your homework for them?"

He sat back on the couch and his lips curled at the idea. "No. They would have, believe me; I was scrawny. But I had a much bigger friend who looked out for me. Two of them, actually."

Something triggered a memory and her brows drew together. "Oh, of course. You were friends with Alex Muñoz, weren't you? You grew up together."

He grimaced, but she sensed it wasn't directed at her. "Yes. I'm surprised—well. I supposed it wasn't that long ago, was it?"

"It was all over the papers," she said, quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to touch on a sore subject." She paused. "I'm surprised you didn't recuse yourself from the case."

"I wanted to, due to my personal connection, but the DA wouldn't let me. He said we had to prove that the DA's office could be objective." He took an angry sip of wine. "It was all a power play. Who would blink first? I suppose I did, because I stayed on the case."

"You did your job, Rafael."

"Yes," he said. "I guess I did. But…I'll admit I didn't feel great about it. He would have made an amazing mayor."

She frowned. "In theory, sure, but being in the mayor's office would have just given him more power and reach to exploit young woman. I mean, look at Anthony Weiner."

"Ha," he said, a humorless chuckle. "I'd rather not."

"Politicians, man." She lifted a hand, flicking her fingers in a shrug. "What's with them? Alex Muñoz might have been mayor of New York City if he could've kept it in his pants. How many politicians have been brought down by their junk? Just…fuckin' zip it up."

He hid a laugh in his wineglass. "Have you heard that Mike Pence won't have a meal alone with a woman so he won't be tempted? It's a deal he has with his wife."

"You know, it sounds extreme, but honestly? Apparently political power somehow connects directly to the penis and short-circuits everything else, so maybe it's smart." She shifted in her seat and scowled. "Though in an ordinary sort of relationship it would piss me off. Like you can't even be in a room alone with a woman without wanting to whip it out? We'd have issues, I think."

Her eyes went wide and she turned pink. "I didn't mean, like…you and me  _we_. I meant myself and some hypothetical guy who couldn't keep it in his pants around random women."

That time he laughed outright. "I'm fairly certain I can keep it in my pants around random women. Unless the woman in question is you. Then it's a struggle."

"Is it?" she said, her voice going soft. "How interesting."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and drank his wine. Her own mouth curved in response, and she stretched her legs out along the couch toward him.

"This is a familiar scene," he murmured, tickling the bottom of one foot until she giggled and kicked at him.

"Don't do that!"

"Apologies,  _belleza_. I wanted to know if you're ticklish."

"Use your powers for good, Barba, not evil."

He ran his knuckles along the arch of her foot and she shivered. "Like that?" he said.

"Mmhm, that'll do." They were quiet a moment, studying each other, until she said, "I told Carisi about Friday night."

"Ah. Did you? How did he take it?"

"Surprisingly well," she said. "Like I told you, we're not serious. Or official. It's just a good time."

"Hmm." He swirled the liquid in his glass and drained the last few sips. "What did you tell him, exactly?"

"I told him…that I sat on your lap and rocked against you until I came. And you didn't."

He lifted a brow and reached into his pocket. "So you didn't tell him about these?" he said, holding up a scrap of black lace that she recognized as her underwear.

She blushed. "I thought that should be kept between us. Private."

"Mmm. Good girl." He set his glass aside and crawled up the length of the couch toward her. Rucked up her skirt as he went, just enough to reveal the tops of her black stockings. "Very nice," he murmured, and planted a kiss on her thigh above the lace.

Shivering, she reached for him. Her fingers tangled around his tie and used it to pull him up the rest of the way. Seconds later he was kissing her, long and slow and languid, but quickly turning hot and hungry.

He unbuttoned her shirt to reveal even more lace, and he dipped his head to suck her nipple through it. She gave a soft moan and shrugged the shirt off, but when he reached for the hem of her skirt she stopped him.

"Let's go to the bedroom," she said. "I think we'll be more comfortable."

"I agree." He rose and offered her a hand. Once there, he started to guide her toward the bed, but she stopped him again, this time for more kisses. His hands roamed up and down her body while she worked on loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. She got them both off of him, then slid her hands under his undershirt.

He pulled it over his head and she smiled at him, a low noise of approval humming in her throat. "Sexy," she said, kissing his chest and running a hand over his tummy and up to cup the back of his neck.

He unzipped her skirt and slid it off and she helped him get rid of his pants. Before he could reach for his black briefs or her panties, she gently pushed him onto the bed.

"Do you trust me, Rafi?" she said.

He looked up at her, his eyes raking the length of her in black lingerie and stockings, and nodded. She'd called him  _Rafi_. He wanted to hear it again. "I do,  _cariña_."

"Good," she said. She grabbed his tie from where they'd discarded it and gestured for him to scoot up the bed. "We're going to have so much fun, sugar. I promise."

Grinning in anticipation, he watched as she crawled up his body to straddle him. She leaned down for a kiss, then took his arms and guided them above his head. As she nipped and bit along his jaw she used his tie to secure him to the white metal spokes of the headboard.

"Aren't you full of surprises, Ms. Gable," he said.

"You have no idea, Mr. Barba. Just wait." She sat up and reached behind her to unclasp her bra. He was practically drooling as she shrugged out of it and cupped her breasts. "What?" she said, rubbing a thumb over a nipple. "You like what you see?"

" _Eres hermosa_ ," he breathed. "So fucking beautiful."

"Mmmmm good boy." She scooted up a bit and leaned down so that he could reach her tits with his mouth. He started off slowly, barely flicking his tongue against her peachy skin, then lapping across her nipple, and finally sucking it between his lips.

She gave a tiny moan and moved so he could reach the other one. "Feels so good!" she said, then moaned again when he flicked it with his tongue while sucking. She pressed her tits together so that he could reach both nipples by barely turning his head, and he went back and forth, sucking and licking and nipping until she rocked against his chest and whispered his name.

Finally she sat up and rolled away. When she came back her panties were gone and she was smirking. "I think I want to sit on your face, sweetheart. Would you like that?"

"Yes," he said with an eager nod. "Absolutely."

This time when she kissed him their tongues met before their lips did. Their moans mingled. Her fingers combed through his hair.

"I love kissing you," she whispered. "Since that first time, I can't get enough of it."

He flashed a drunken smirk. "There's no limit,  _belleza_. Kiss me as much as you want."

So she did, for a long time, until eventually she gave an impatient wiggle and moved up to straddle his face. He lifted his head, but she raised up out of his reach with a giggle.

" _Niñita_!" he growled.

She clicked her tongue,  _tsk_ ing at him. "Always gotta be on top, even when you're not." She teased him some more, dropping down until he could just touch her with the tip of his tongue, then lifting up again. Still laughing, she untied his hands.

Without any sort of preamble, he grabbed her hips and yanked her down to his mouth. She gasped, and he ran his tongue up and down her slit over and over.

"Oh fuck!" she squeaked. She gripped his hair with one hand and a rung on the headboard with the other, and when she tried to rock her hips he held her still.

He was merciless: he nipped and sucked at her lips; licked every single inch of her he could reach; and just when she thought she might die from his teasing, he slid two fingers deep into her and curled them just right.

She let out a surprised little yelp. His fingers were long and thick and felt incredible, and now he was finally, finally getting down to it. His tongue left a delicious trail of heat as he ran it up and down across her clit. In long, looping figure eights around it and down to where he filled her. Over her inner lips and back to her clit until all she could do was make little wordless, high-pitched gasping noises.

"Please!" she finally managed. "Oh please!"

He chuckled, the sound muffled against her. "Please what,  _niñita_? Use your words."

"Need to—oh god! Need to come!  _Please_!"

"Mmmmm." He curled his fingers inside her, directly against her g-spot, and pressed his mouth over her clit. His tongue lapped against it, and the sensitive skin all around it, and eventually he began to suck.

She moaned, her back arching, and he didn't let up with his mouth or his fingers. His other hand gripped her thigh, squeezing hard. She hoped he would leave marks there. That thought made her shudder, and as he twisted his fingers inside her she felt the hot edge of her orgasm approaching fast.

"Rafi!" she cried. "Fuck yes like that like that  _yes_!" It hit hard, deep, a riotous blaze of sensation that locked her muscles and blanked her mind. He worked her through it and it went on and on and on until she finally had to jerk herself away and fall down beside him, overwhelmed and spent. Her leg draped across his upper chest but the rest of her was crumpled like a broken bird.

He laughed and kissed her inner thigh. Peeled her stocking down and off so he could stroke her leg. " _Cariña_? Still with me, Olivia?"

"Yeah," she gasped. "Fuck. Yes. That was—Christ. Wow."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I certainly did."

She managed to drag her legs under her and sit up to kiss him. His mouth was reddened and swollen and she loved tasting herself on his lips. He offered her one of her fingers, and she sucked it clean with an eager mew.

"Sweet girl," he murmured, stroking her hair. "I knew you would be such a sweet girl for me. Stubborn little Olivia."

She rested her chin on his chest and sighed. "Maybe too stubborn for my own good. We could've done this sooner."

"Hhmm. I don't know; I think building the anticipation was part of the fun," he said. He ran both hands down her back to cup her ass. "Imagining you like this, soft and naked and strung-out. Ready and begging for me."

She squirmed. "You imagined that?"

"Many times,  _niñita_. Especially over the last few days. Friday night was…an unexpected surprise."

"That's not usually the type of thing I do," she said, blushing.

"Nor I. A bit indiscreet."

"Mmhmm. But…worth it. In this case."

"Absolutely worth it."

Then, with hungry little moans, they were kissing again. He rolled them over and her legs went around him. She could feel his cock through his underwear, and this time she wanted it inside her.

"Rafi…" she said. "Rafi, listen."

He lifted his head to look at her, his expression intent. "Tell me, Olivia."

"I want…" She bit her lip and reached for his tie. "I want you to use this on me. Like I did on you."

His brow furrowed. He took her hand in his and softly kissed the fading marks around her wrist. "Are you sure,  _cariña_? I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Or—if you do—it's what I want. I want…" She sighed, nervously. "Punish me," she whispered. "Punish me for being so stubborn. For calling you  _Mr. Barba_  when you wanted to hear your name, and for—for fucking Sonny instead of you."

He drew in a sharp breath. "You have been a naughty girl, Ms. Gable."

"I have, Papi," she said. "Very."

Grunting, he kissed her hard. Pulled her arms up and tied her like she'd just done to him. "Safe words?" he murmured between kisses.

"Green, yellow, red," she said. "Full stop is  _juniper_."

"Thank you. Now?"

"Green," she breathed. "So fuckin' green."

He smirked and began to slowly make his way down her body, kissing and biting his favorite spots. Lingering over certain freckles he liked. Spending plenty of time on her tits, and not just her nipples. He bit the inside of her thighs and sucked hard enough to leave marks blooming in his wake.

"So good!" she whispered over and over. "I love it, don't stop!"

"Gonna turn you over,  _princesa_. Need to get my hands on that sweet round ass of yours."

She nodded, biting her lip, and the slack he'd left in the tie around her wrists allowed her to flip to her belly. He lifted her hips and arranged a pillow beneath her. She rocked against it, which earned her a brief smack on the ass.

"Behave,  _niñita_ , or you don't get what you want."

"I'll be good! I promise."

"I hope so." He ran his palm along the curve of her ass. Down her thighs. "I love the way the tops of your thighs rub together, sweet girl. So soft." He pinched the little rolls along her sides. "These too. Soft and sexy."

It was a struggle to remain still, but she bit her lip and did her best. "I'm glad you like it, Sir."

"You're beautiful," he said. He dipped his head to kiss the back of her thigh, all the way up to the dimples at the small of her back. "Exquisite. A little work of art."

"Thank you!" she gasped. His stubbled felt incredible, a rough burn, and she already loved the soft heat of his mouth.

"Now. Tell me, bad girl. Do you want my hand…or my belt?"

Her mind flashed briefly to those stories she'd read way back when she thought she hated him and she almost choked. "Belt!" she said. "Please, I've been  _so_  bad!"

He chuckled. "Just as I thought. Don't move."

She felt his weight leave the bed, and then heard the sound of his belt buckle jingling. A moment later he was back, kissing her ass again. He ran the expensive leather over her skin, stroking her with it, and she whimpered.

"Ready,  _angelita_?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Green. Please!"

The belt struck her, gently at first, and she hissed. He did it again, quickly, before she had a chance to process the first blow. The sting brought tears to her eyes. Made her cunt throb in anticipation. She gasped his name, begging, and he smacked her a third time, just above the tops of her thighs and harder than ever.

"Oh god!" she cried. "More!" The tears dripped down her cheeks and onto the pillow. She knew her mascara would be all over her face, her lipstick smeared and her hair a wild mess, but that was exactly what she wanted: to let go. To be free. To be totally his ( _Rafael Barba's!_  some part of her mind marveled) and not have to worry about anything because she was safe with him.

He kissed her back and shoulders, stroked her ass, and spanked her one last time. "Four," he said. He was breathing hard. "I think that's enough for now." He marveled at the reddened skin, at the little keening sounds she made, and lathed over the marks with a soft tongue.

"Good girl," he rasped. "Such a good girl for Papi."

"Yes! Thank you, thank you!" She couldn't resist the urge to wiggle, but a firm squeeze to her hip stopped her. He bit her ass between kisses, sucking gently, and she whined from the pleasure of it.

The sting was immense, almost more than she could handle, but god she loved it. Loved that he trusted her like this, and that she could trust him. Loved the way he touched and kissed her, the tone in his voice when he spoke to her. She would've taken more, and gladly, but he was probably right: better to start out slow than overdo it the first time.

He rubbed her shoulders and bit the back of her neck—a particular weakness of hers—and pressed his cock against her ass. The cotton of his underwear was rough against her sore skin, but that only made her want him more.

"Condoms?" he said, his voice rough.

"Drawer. Over there."

He reached across her to dig through the drawer she nodded toward. He emerged with a condom package between his fingers, and sat up long enough to shove his underwear down.

Her pulse pounded in her cunt and her ass was on fire from his ministrations. She could feel herself dripping down her thigh and she absolutely  _ached_  to be filled. She couldn't stand it if he teased, would probably die from wanting, but luckily he was nearly as worked up as she was.

"This what you want,  _niñita_?" he said, pressing his cock against her. "You want me to fuck you just like this?"

"God yes fuck oh please!" she whined. She was beyond caring about dignity at this point; she needed to writhe and beg and whine for him, and he knew it.

He  _wanted_  to tease, but somehow his normal stoic control was nowhere to be found. He needed her, hard and fast and  _now_ , and with a grunt he thrust in deep.

"Yes!" she yelped. "Yes, like that, please!"

"Please what,  _princesa_?" he said as he pulled out to the tip.

"Please—Papi! Please, Rafi! Please, Sir!" She gave him a whole menu to choose from; one was bound to be right.

Apparently it was, because without further comment he slammed into her again and began to fuck her hard and deep. He pulled the pillow from under her hips so that he could lie on top of her, and his breath was hot on the side of her neck. One hand slid underneath to press two fingers to her clit, and he wrapped the other arm around her upper arm to grip her shoulder.

She loved the feel of him on top of her, heavier and softer than Sonny, and the quiet grunts of pleasure he made as he thrust into her. His cock was thick, stretching her around him so deliciously, and the tip hit her just right every time.

"Feel so good, sweet girl," he breathed. "Slick and hot, just for me. My sweet Olivia."

"Yes!" she whispered. "Fuck yes, all for you!" She turned her head just a little, and with a hungry moan he kissed her. She couldn't take how incredible he felt, how he enveloped her and filled her and overwhelmed her. Her climax was close and if she didn't come soon she thought she might die.

He mumbled Spanish nonsense in her ear, terms of endearment and nasty phrases so tangled up together that in her pleasure-drugged state she couldn't possibly translate. Otherwise they didn't speak; there was no need; and as her orgasm rushed closer her gasps became higher and more desperate.

He pulled his arm from under hers and slid his hand up to wrap around her neck. Found the pulse points there and squeezed, just a little. She moaned, rocking her hips against his hand, and felt the building heat in her belly explode.

"Rafi!" she cried. "Oh god YES!" It was even stronger than the first one, and he didn't let up as she squeezed around him again and again.

"That's it, that's it, good girl, so good!" He pressed kisses up and down the side of her face, her neck, her shoulder, and with a rough moan he emptied himself into the condom. His thrusts subsided in fits and starts until finally his forehead fell to land on her shoulder and they both panted and shuddered.

He managed to roll away long enough to discard the condom, then he was back to untie her and gather her in his arms. She was trembling against him. He stroked her back and whispered soft words into her ear.

"Shhh,  _cariña_. Shh. Tell me what you need. Shhh."

"Just—like this—for a minute," she said. "That was—intense."

He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away her tears, and kissed her face. "You're so beautiful, Olivia, so good. That was wonderful. You were wonderful. Thank you for trusting me, my sweet, sweet girl."

She gave a breathless little laugh. "I had no idea I would want—something like that. Especially now."

He smiled back, soft and gentle, and took her hands in his to kiss her wrists again. "Submission can be cathartic. I believe you understand that well."

She nodded. "Honestly I feel better right now than I have since before the break-in, and not just because of two incredible orgasms. I feel…peaceful."

"Good." He kissed her forehead. Her mouth. Her arms went around him and they stayed locked together for a long time, kissing and murmuring. She loved the way he kissed her, that laser focus of his locked on her completely, as though kissing her were the most important thing he would ever do.

No wonder he was such a good lawyer.

"I need ice cream," she whispered.

"Ice cream?"

"Mmhm. My 'post-really-amazing-sex' ritual. There's some in the freezer."

He grinned and gave her one last kiss before rolling out of bed. "As  _mi princesa_  desires. Don't go anywhere."

She snuggled down into the covers and reached for his tie. It was turquoise with wide navy stripes, not something she would've expected him to wear, but of course very expensive and classy looking. She smoothed the crumpled silk, but she was afraid it might never be the same again.

He paused in the doorway a moment to watch her, a rueful smile curving his mouth. "Sacrificed for a good cause, I think," he said.

She looked up with a frown between her brows. "I'll buy you a replacement."

"Not necessary,  _niña_." He climbed into bed next to her and kissed her before handing her the pint of ice cream and a spoon. "I have plenty more."

"Of course you do." She took the lid off and scooped up a bite. "But still. Maybe I just want to get you a gift."

"Hmm. It was one of my favorites."

She grinned. "Okay then." She handed him the ice cream and he took a bite before passing it back.

"I had a brief  _detente_  with your large furry housemate in the kitchen."

"Oh? How did that go?"

He scowled a little and stretched out beside her. "He conned me into feeding him several bites from a jar marked  _Kitty Treats_. He seemed satisfied, and retreated from the field."

" _Conned_  is right, buddy. Now that he knows you're such an easy mark, you'll never enjoy peace in my kitchen again. He'll be forever begging for treats."

He sighed. "I was afraid of something like that." He reached up to twine a lock of her bright hair around one of his fingers. "As long as it means I'll be in your kitchen again sometime in the near future, I suppose it's worth it."

"My kitchen," she said with an amused tilt to her lips, "or my bedroom?"

"Either," he said. "Both." He drew her to him for a lingering kiss. She tasted like mint and chocolate, her mouth both cool and hot and entirely sweet.

Abruptly her tummy rumbled, and she pulled away with a blush and a giggle. "Oops. I guess ice cream isn't the best supper for a grown woman."

"What do you have in your kitchen,  _belleza_? I can make us something."

"You don't have to do that." She set the empty carton on the nightstand and searched through a lower drawer. "There's a Chinese place around the corner that delivers until midnight. Ah, here we go."

She handed him the menu, and his forehead crinkled as he studied it. "What are all these marks?"

"My usual order," she said.

"Olivia, there are six dishes marked on here."

"I like leftovers," she said with a shrug.

He stared at her. Had his mother ever been more right in her entire life?

"What?" she said, her cheeks turning pink again.

"Nothing, just—you might actually be the perfect woman."

"Hmmph. You say that now, but men only think a woman eating is cute when she's skinny. I've gained ten pounds just in the last week from all the stress eating. Just wait."

"Nooo…that…" He gave an impatient sigh. "Don't be absurd, Olivia. Your body is perfect, and it will continue to be perfect no matter what it looks like. Besides—not to belie what I just said—you were too thin when we first met. And you barely ate anything."

"I was too annoyed to eat. And—well. Do you have any idea what the art scene is like in New York?" Her mouth quirked in a rueful moue. "Thin is in, baby, and the thinner the better."

"Eat what you want," he said with a scowl. "Life is too short to be hungry." He patted his belly. "I speak from experience."

"Well who am I to argue with you and your sexy Papi body?" she said.

"Little brat." He dragged her to him and kissed her over and over until she cried uncle and shoved him away, laughing the whole time.

"Tell me what you want to eat," she said and took the menu from him. "I'm so hungry!"

He plucked the menu from her fingers and dropped it beside the bed. "It's barely ten,  _cariña_. I think I want a snack before dinner."

"Oh?" she said even as he pushed her back against the pillows. "And what did you have in mind, Mr. Barba?"

He kissed her neck and began to work his way down her body. "You, Ms. Gable. Specifically, your sweet pink cunt."

"Goddamn I like the way you think," she breathed.


	15. Coming Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonny comes out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to write porn and wrote this instead. Oops.

The rest of the week was a blur of activity for Olivia, and she didn't have time to think about (much less see) either Barba or Carisi. The gallery was incredibly busy, she hadn't updated her photography blog in three weeks, and she and Sara had hardly spoken since Olivia had gotten out of the hospital. In addition to all of that, August, Olivia's most reliable assistant to date, had met someone at the opening gala and chose this week, of all times, to turn into a lovesick puppy.

At some point (the days were blending together) Rollins called to tell her that the DNA they'd retrieved from under her fingernails matched the semen left during the break-in, so that was a relief. On the other hand, it  _didn't_  match Peterson's DNA. So either he wasn't involved (unlikely, considering the MO), or it was an accomplice.

They still hadn't found Micah Ramirez, but they were digging into Peterson's other associates during his pageant years, and after. It was a long, often fruitless, slog, but Rollins assured her they weren't giving up.

Olivia did manage to carve out time to stop at Barney's to pick out a new tie for Barba. She had it wrapped and sent to his office, and the next afternoon there were flowers waiting in her office when she got back from lunch. She smiled and searched for a card, but there wasn't one.

She took a picture and sent it to him.  _They're beautiful_ , she texted.

Her phone binged a few moments later.  _Yes, they are. Who sent them?_

She blinked down at the screen. Who…?  _I thought you did. As thanks for the tie. They're purple tulips._

This time the pause was longer.  _I was planning to pick out a thank-you for the tie after work today. I wouldn't send flowers again. That was for "get well," not "thank you." Is there a card?_

_If there were a card I would have known they weren't from you!_

Her phone rang, startling her, and she answered it quickly. "You seriously didn't send these?"

"No, and I think you should call Detective Rollins. How long has it been since you've heard from him?" His tone was clipped, worried, and that scared her more than anything.

"I—since the night he drugged me. That'll be two weeks Monday."

"And how long between the break-in and the attack?"

She had to think about it. "Um…a week, I guess."

"Hm. Two weeks is a long time, then. Call Rollins. They need to find out where the flowers came from. A florist might be able to give a description, or if he delivered them himself your security cameras might have captured him."

"They might just be from a client. Or an artist. I get gifts from people all the time."

He bit back a sigh. "Olivia, why would a client or artist not include a card? And how many people in your professional life know your favorite flower? It's not exactly common. White roses might be a coincidence, but purple tulips?"

That stopped her. "Okay, good point." She drew in an aggrieved breath. "I don't have  _time_  for this, Rafael! I'm  _busy_!"

"I know,  _cariña_ ," he said, his voice softening. "But please. For me? Call her."

"Fine. But I'm not happy about it."

"Of course you're not. I'm not either. Text me about it later; I'm on my way to a meeting now."

"Okay." She paused and bit her lip. "And Rafi? Thank you."

"For what?" he said with a quiet laugh.

"I don't know, exactly. Just—thank you."

There was a longish pause while he debated what to say. Finally, "I know this isn't the right time, but…when can I see you again?"

"Soon," she said. "I hope soon."

"So do I. I'm already addicted to the taste of you,  _belleza_."

 _Oh Christ_ , she thought, and shivered. "Go to your meeting," she said when she had her voice back. "I'll text you."

"I look forward to it."

They both rang off, and after taking a few minutes to catch her breath, Olivia called Rollins.

* * *

Carisi waited until Rollins and Fin were back at the precinct before he texted her.

_Hey. U ok?_

He tried to focus on paperwork while he waited for an answer, but he couldn't. Instead he fidgeted. Tossed the tennis ball from hand to hand and spun a pen around and around. Rollins sat at her desk glaring, but he ignored her.

"So it was the guy?" he said.

She shrugged. "Security footage showed a man in a dark peacoat with a red beanie. No shots of his face; he clearly knew where the cameras are."

Carisi sighed, his face scrunching. "How did he know her favorite flower? And why just drop off flowers? Why no note? Why wait almost two weeks before makin' contact? And if this is one of Peterson's old apprentices, why hasn't Olivia gotten any photos?"

"I think if we knew the answers to those questions we'd have our guy," Rollins said. "Clearly the MO here is different from Peterson's. First of all, Olivia is an adult, not a kid. Maybe our doer isn't as interested in little girls as Peterson is and he decided to keep the photos for himself."

He didn't like that idea. "He's still stalkin' her, that's obvious. She's not gonna be safe until we get him off the street." He chewed a thumbnail and checked his phone. Nothing from her yet. She was probably with a client. Or in the bathroom. Or being kidnapped by Micah Ramirez.

Carisi pushed himself off his chair and stomped to the break room. This was exactly why you didn't get personally involved with a vic. He was way too close, even after being taken off the case. He wanted her safe. He couldn't stand the thought of some creep following her, watching her, learning things about her like her favorite flower or where she liked to buy her groceries.

His phone binged, the ringtone he'd assigned to Olivia, and he felt some of the tension drain out of him.

 _I guess so_ , she said.  _Tired of all this. How did he know my favorite flower, Sonny?_

_I don't know, baby doll. But every time he does something like this we get closer to catching him. We WILL catch him. I promise._

She sent a smiley face emoji, then,  _dinner tonight? my treat._

_Let's stay in. Come to my place & I'll cook for us._

_How about you come to mine? It sounds stupid, but I don't want to leave Baloo alone. I have images of Fatal Attraction and boiled bunnies._

_That doesn't sound stupid_ , he sent.  _I'll stop by the store omw._

_Don't you have class tonight, Detective Carisi?_

_Nope! Canceled. So I thought I'd spend the evening with my best girl._

_You cutie. Ok. 7?_

_See you then._  He added some kiss-face emojis and, feeling relieved and more optimistic than he had in days, opened the Notes app to start making a grocery list.

* * *

Olivia leaned back in her chair with a groan and rubbed her belly. "Oh my God, Sonny, I'm so full! That was amazing."

He blushed to the tips of his ears and grinned at her. "It was my nana's recipe," he said. "I'm glad you liked it."

"I did. You're very cute and a wonderful cook and I'm glad I invited you over tonight."

Blushing even harder, he stood to gather the plates. She started to help, but he waved her to the couch. "You've had an insane week. Go sit down. It'll only take a sec."

"I could get used to being spoiled like this," she said. She grabbed their wine glasses and relocated to the sofa, moving Baloo out of her way before she sat down. He glared at her, then sauntered to the kitchen to beg for scraps. Knowing Sonny, he would get some.

Olivia's phone binged, and when she checked it she saw a message from Barba.

_Ms. Gable, would it be convenient if I stopped in tomorrow at your gallery?_

She smiled. Why was he always so goddamn formal?  _Of course, Mr. Barba. I'll be there all day. Is there something I can help you with?_

_I have a gift for you, and after the…flowers incident, I thought it better to deliver it in person._

_Considerate of you. I'll look forward to seeing you._

"Hey," Sonny said. "Who's that?" He dropped onto the couch and took a swig of wine. "Anybody I know?"

"It's Barba. He was just checking in."

 _Gotta go_ , she texted.  _I have company._

"Barba, huh?" he said as she set her phone aside. He fiddled with the stem of his wineglass. "How's that goin'?"

"Um…well. I'm not entirely sure how to answer that question, because I'm not sure what  _that_  is. We—" Her mouth twisted. "I took your advice the other day, but because of my crazy schedule I haven't had a chance to see either one of you since."

"Till now."

"Mmhmm. Until now."

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Smoothed the front of his sweater and ran a hand through his hair. "How did—I mean—how was that?"

She lifted a brow. "Fucking Barba, you mean?"

"Yep. That's what I meant," he said into his wine glass.

"It was…intense. As I'm sure you can imagine."

"Good intense, or over the top intense?"

She scooted closer and reached for his hand. She toyed with his long fingers and traced the lines of his palm. "Sonny, if you're asking if I had fun, the answer's yes. If you're asking if I want anything to change between you and me, the answer's no."

That seemed to calm him down a little. "What about you and him? You gonna—sleep with him again?"

"I might. Would that bother you?"

"I…" He frowned, staring down into the wine, then sneaking a glance at her. "Honestly? I don't know. I wanna say no, because we're super casual and you're not my girlfriend, but at the same time, I've never been with anyone who was havin' sex with someone else at the same time as me. But Barba's—not exactly a friend, but sorta—so it's not like it's a stranger or somethin'." He gave a restless shrug. "I just don't know, Oll."

"Okay. That's fair. I'd probably have the same reaction if you told me you were sleeping with someone else."

"I'm an old-fashioned kinda guy." He moved close enough to put an arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He dipped his chin to brush his nose against her hair. "Are you gonna be sleepin' with anyone else?"

She laughed. "No. I think two is plenty, don't you?"

He was quiet a while. "Did you talk to him about me?"

"He knows we're…involved. I've told him it's not serious. We haven't talked about it in-depth, though." She sighed and snuggled in closer. "I guess we'll need to if we keep messing around."

"Hm." He played with her hair, his touch gentle. "That all it is? Messin' around?"

"You sound doubtful."

He had seen her face when she was answering Barba's texts.  _Messing around_  wasn't what had been written there.

"I want both of you," she finally said. "You're so different from each other, but you both make me feel safe. You make me feel wanted and sexy and happy. Even though sometimes I want to strangle him," she said with a snort. "It's—complicated, I guess. But also really simple."

"Olivia…" He was silent for so long she craned her neck to look up at him. His face was scrunched, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the glass in his hand. "I'm pretty sure I love you."

"What?" She sat up, startled. "What?!"

"It's not a big deal," he said with a sheepish smile. "You don't gotta do anything about it."

" _What_!?" she said again. "Sonny! You can't just tell someone you love her then say it's  _not a big deal_! That's the biggest deal!"

"No, I mean—" He set his glass on the coffee table. "What I mean is I'm good. We're good. It's been like two weeks, so it's kinda dumb for me to feel that way anyway—"

"How you feel isn't  _dumb_!"

"But I guess I do, and maybe it's just because of Barba and I've never—shared before. But if I gotta share you with somebody, I guess I'm glad it's him."

She stared at him, eyes wide. "Because you like him," she said.

"Well, yeah, like I told you—"

"No, Sonny, I mean you  _like_  him. You're attracted to him. You wouldn't mind if his mom set you up on a blind date with him. You've wondered what he looks like naked and if he prefers pancakes or waffles in the mornings. You like him."

He shook his head, his expression torn between a smile and a scowl. "Nah, that's not—I'm not—I'm not gay, Oll."

"You're not gay," she said, "but I'm pretty sure you're not straight, either."

He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. She watched him carefully, hoping she hadn't pushed too far. His face underwent a series of transformations, and his lean body was taut and restless. At last he scrubbed his face with both hands and let out a tired sigh.

"I never told anyone before," he said, softly. "I never—" Another sigh, and he fell back against the couch cushions. "There was one guy. In college. I thought—it's college, right? People do shit. Experiment or whatever."

She stayed quiet. He gave her a quick glance before looking away again.

"The Church says it's a sin," he said.

"They say that about a lot of things, sweetheart. Do you really believe it?"

"I don't know. How'm I supposed to…?" He covered his face with his hands and shook his head. "If I ever brought a guy home it'd kill my ma."

"Oh, honey." She scooted down the couch and wrapped her arms around him. "Your mother loves you. It might take her time to come to terms with it, but she would. I'm sure she would."

She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. "I'm bi," she said. "I've never told my parents."

One arm snaked out to wrap around and gather her close. "What do you do?" he said. "With all those feelings?"

"You mean if I have a crush on a girl?"

"Yeah. How do you deal with it?"

She sighed a little. "When I was younger, before I came to terms with my sexuality, I wrote it off as…I don't know. 'Oh, I admire her so much!' Or, 'I can think a girl is pretty without being gay!' That sort of thing. Now…well. Just like with men. I assess the vibe and decide if I should make a move."

"What if the girl's straight?" he said with a frown.

"Never get involved with a straight girl. It only ever ends in tears. I imagine the same thing would apply with you and straight boys."

"So Barba—"

"Is not straight."

His head came up like she'd pinched him. "Huh? He tell you that?"

"No. He didn't have to. Trust me."

"I don't get it."

"It's just…" She rubbed the back of her neck as she considered. "There's a way straight guys treat you. Especially…during sex. Especially during the type of sex he and I had."

"What kind of sex was that? How many kinds of sex are there?!"

Her mouth curved. "Grains of sand on the beach, cutie. But in this case I mean rough sex. With, um. Spanking. And some bondage."

His eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"It's not always my thing, especially not with someone I hardly know, but…yeah. Seriously. He spanked me with his belt and used his tie to tie me to the headboard." She cleared her throat. "After I used it to tie  _him_  to the headboard and sat on his face."

"Jesus," he mumbled.

"Anyway. Straight men are always…it's such a power trip for them. And I mean  _duh_  it's a power trip to be a Dom, but it's like straight men feel sort of…entitled to it? Like, 'of course you're submitting to me! I am Man!'" She rolled her eyes. "I hate subbing for a straight man. They take all the fun out of it."

"Oh…" he said. "I never…considered it, I guess." He frowned. "Why would someone feel entitled to spank you?"

She leaned up to kiss his jaw. "You're adorable, Sonny, and I hope you never change. Most men aren't like you, sweetheart. Surely you've learned that, in your job."

His frown deepened into a scowl. "Yeah. I don't get it." He pulled her closer for a kiss, his mouth soft against hers. "I'd never wanna hurt you like that, baby doll."

"He didn't hurt me," she murmured. "Well—he did. But I wanted it. I liked it. And it didn't hurt  _much_. Anyway, my point is Barba definitely isn't straight. I'm sure if you wanted to suck his dick he'd be down."

"Holy shit!" He sprang to his feet and paced away. "You can't just say shit like that, Olivia! I can't—I don't—how would I even—?! Jesus!"

"Okay, okay, I didn't mean to upset you. Come sit back down." She patted the couch, and after a few more moments' pacing, he grumbled and slumped down next to her.

"There's no way I could say somethin' like that to Barba."

"Of course not. I was joking. Mostly."

He cut his eyes toward her and let out a long breath. "I know you were. I just—this is hard for me, Oll."

"Well—do you want to talk instead about you saying you love me?"

"Oh God," he said, almost a groan. "Not really. I meant it. Just—I get it's way too soon, and too much. But I can't remember the last time someone made me as happy as you do. The sex, yeah, but also stuff like this, just havin' dinner or sandwiches in the park. I think about you all the time, and people ask me what I'm smilin' about. It's you, little bird."

He laughed, a little shaky, and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not tryin' to do some big declaration here. I just wanna tell you what I'm thinkin'. I'm fine with things stayin' like they are, or not gettin' any more serious. Nothin's changed there."

"Oh, Sonny." She looped a hand around the back of his neck and tugged him close for a long kiss. "I adore you. You're sweet and you're fun and you're brave."

He snorted. "Brave?!"

"Babe, it doesn't matter how old you are: coming out is never easy."

"Coming…out?" he said. "Is that what I did?"

"To me," she said. "It doesn't mean you have to tell anyone else. It doesn't mean you have to start poundin' cocks. It just means you've started being more honest with yourself. And doesn't that feel better?"

He scrubbed his palms against his jeans. Debated pacing again, but decided to stay put. "You aren't mad?" he finally said.

"Mad?" Her nose crinkled. "Why would I be mad?"

"I don't know." He plucked at his jeans. "Do you feel like I lied to you?"

"Baby, no! Sonny…I understand where you're coming from, but I'm not interested in making you feel guilty. For anything. Okay?"

"Yeah?" he said on a long breath.

"Yes. My Catholic Eagle Scout." She kissed him again, harder, and he pulled her close. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his nose. Either dimple. The line between his brows. "Do you want to go to bed?" she whispered.

"Uh huh," he said, nuzzling his nose against hers. "But could we just…could I hold you? Or is that too lame?"

She slid off his lap and held out a hand for him. "It's not lame, sweet boy. Come on."

He gave her a grateful smile and slipped his palm into hers. When he was on his feet he wrapped his arms around her waist and they stood kissing for a long time.

"Take me to bed, Detective Carisi," she said.

He lifted her off her feet, tossing her over his shoulder. "Whatever you say, little bird."


	16. August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barba shows up at Olivia's office with a thank you gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have one more chapter written after this one, so updates are gonna be slower. Sorry about that, chaps.

The next afternoon there was a discreet knock at her office door. "Come in!" she called, setting her phone aside and trying to make it look like she wasn't playing Candy Crush for the last hour.

Barba poked his head in, saw her, and smiled. "Your assistant wasn't at his desk."

She rose and came to greet him. Pressed a warm kiss to his lips and took the beautifully wrapped box from him. "No, he had a hot date tonight, so I decided to let him go early. I've been working him like a dog and he earned a few hours off. Come in. Can I get you something? Bourbon?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you," he said as he stripped off his coat and unwound his scarf.

She poured two drinks and carried them to the chesterfield. He took the glass with a smile. "So," she said once she was sat next to him with a leg curled under her, "is this for me?"

His mouth curved. "It was for your assistant, but since he isn't here, I suppose you'll have to do."

"A joke!? Why, Mr. Barba, if I didn't know better I'd say you're gettin' soft," she said in her best Virginia drawl.

"Ms. Gable, when I'm around you, the last thing I am is  _soft_ ," he said. His tone made her shiver, and she tried to hide it with a sip of bourbon. He noticed, though, and smirked.

She cleared her throat. "Shall I open it now, or wait until later?"

"Now, if you please. That way if you don't like it, I can exchange it for something else."

"I'm sure I'll love it," she said. She set her drink aside and reached for the box. It was thin, oblong, and wrapped in gorgeous matte eggplant paper with an elegant cream colored ribbon. Normally she would tear into it, but the paper was too pretty to treat so callously. Instead she carefully popped each seam and set the wrapping aside.

The box itself was stamped with an unmistakable logo, and she drew in a breath when she opened it. A cashmere Burberry scarf, similar to the one she'd worn to Lucia's apartment to dinner that night. She knew how much it cost, and it was considerably more than one tie.

"Rafael, this is too much!"

"No, it isn't," he said. "I noticed the missing tassels on the one you wore to my mother's. I thought you would like a new one."

"Oh." She stroked the soft material and color bloomed across her cheeks. "Baloo ate them. He loves tassels." The scarf was lavender, with black and deep purple plaid. A tiny pink stripe ran through to provide contrast, but not enough to give her any issue with the color.

"Do you like it,  _cariña_?" he murmured.

She looked up at him, her eyes big. "It's beautiful. And I promise to keep it away from Baloo."

"Good. Or else I'll turn him into earmuffs."

"I've threatened that before. It never phases him."

He made a low, doubtful noise. "That's because he knows  _you_  would never actually do it."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and set the box on the table. She crawled down the couch toward him and slid into his lap. Took his face in her hands and kissed him. "You're really very sweet underneath that grumpy lawyer exterior," she said.

"I suppose I should admit there's an ulterior motive with this gift," he said. He ran his hands up and down her back, stroking and massaging.

"Oh? What's that?"

He leaned closer, until his lips were nearly touching her ear. "I love the idea of you wearing something I gave you around your neck."

She let out a rough breath and turned her head to kiss him again, harder. "I've missed you," she breathed between hungry kisses.

"You had your Sonny boy last night, didn't you? Did he not take care of you,  _belleza_?"

"He takes excellent care of me, Counselor. But it's not the same and you know it." Her forehead creased, and when she leaned in for another kiss he stopped her.

"What's wrong?" he said. He cupped her chin and stroked her cheek with his thumb before dropping a small kiss on her scrunched brow.

She sighed. "It's—Sonny. He had some interesting things to say last night." Of course she wasn't going to out Sonny to Barba—or anyone—but she hadn't been able to stop thinking about the rest of their conversation. "He has the bizarre idea that he loves me. Is  _in_  love with me, I guess, though that isn't how he put it."

"Hm." He ran the pad of his thumb over her full mouth. His expression was wistful and maybe a little bemused, an odd mix that she had never expected to see and almost didn't recognize. "That's not so surprising. You're a very easy woman to love."

"Not according to my mother."

His brows drew together and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. "Family can be…complicated. My father died fifteen years ago, and there are still times I can hear his voice like he's in the room." He paused. Dropped his hand from her face to land on her thigh, palm up. "Especially in the voice of certain defendants. Their eyes become his eyes. Their fists…" He trailed off with a shake of his head.

"Point is, Olivia, if Detective Carisi says he loves you, I would take it as the highest of compliments. He comes across as naïve, certainly, but he's a shrewd judge of character. His regard isn't lightly earned."

She stared at him for several long heartbeats after this astounding speech. "I can't believe I'm fucking the only two men in New York who want to bone each other more than they want to bone me," she finally said.

He snorted out a chuckle. "While the idea of, ah… _boning_  Carisi is intriguing, I can promise you that I'm exactly where I want to be." He smiled and tugged a lock of her hair. "With you,  _mami_. And I'm sure he feels the same way."

Her lips curled and she leaned in for a kiss, only to pull back at the last second. "Not that every man in New York wants to bone me. I maybe phrased that wrong."

"It's okay. I got the gist. Now kiss me,  _mi hermosa_."

She did, roughly, and their moans mingled as he fisted a hand in her hair. "I love this hair," he rasped against her mouth. "So soft and bright. I love it wrapped around my hands. I want to hold it in my fists while you take my cock deep."

She shuddered. "God, Rafi."

With any other woman it might've been too much, too fast, but he knew her. Already he knew her. He knew the perfect spot on her neck to sink his teeth in to make her moan. He knew to nuzzle her ear while he kissed her throat and to tug her hair while he bit at her collarbones. He knew these things, and others, and he couldn't wait to learn more.

He envied Carisi his longer acquaintance with her, but he was also strangely willing to share. He never liked to share anything he thought of as his, even as a small child, and even now that was how he thought of her.  _His_.

"If you want Sonny you can have him," he murmured between kisses. "Just make sure you save some time for me."

"Always, Papi," she breathed. "Am I greedy for wanting you both?"

He chuckled. "Of course you are. But you're allowed to be greedy sometimes."

"I'm feeling greedy right now." She loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt to kiss below the collar. "I want your cock in my mouth."

"Like I said," he said on a long breath, "you're allowed to be greedy sometimes."

She slid off his lap and onto her knees. Unbuckled his belt and tugged his pants down when he lifted his hips. "I'm always getting you pants-less on my chesterfield," she said.

"Because you're a very bad girl," he said, stroking her cheek.

She ran her nails up the inside of his thighs, making him hiss. She bit the tender skin and sucked. "You like it when I'm bad," she murmured. She flicked her tongue against the tip of his cock and wrapped her hand around the shaft to stroke him hard.

"Need it,  _cariña_. Need your sweet mouth," he mumbled.

She started slow, working the head with her tongue, then licking down the length of his shaft to his balls. She slowly sucked each one into her mouth and rolled her tongue around and around. He groaned, gripping her hair, and she smirked.

She loved the taste of him, the feel of him filling her mouth, and it wasn't long before she abandoned precision in favor of pure greed. She sucked him in deep and bobbed her head. Saliva ran down his shaft and dripped lower. His head fell back on a moan, then his chin dropped so he could watch her.

Her full cherry lips were wrapped tight around him; her cheek bulged every time she sucked him in; she gripped his thigh tight enough to turn her knuckles white with one hand and palmed his sack with the other. He loved the sloppy, eager little noises she made and the delighted look in her eye.

"Fuck,  _angelita_ , look at you, so hungry! Take it, baby girl. Take my thick cock!"

The strung-out rasp of his voice made her moan around him and suck him that much harder. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and worked him with her mouth and hand until he was right on the edge.

She popped off, grinning, and wiped her swollen lips with the back of her hand. "Do you like that, Papi?" she said. "Do you want more?"

He growled and tugged at her hair. "Don't stop until I've filled that pretty mouth of yours, bad girl. Unless you don't want to come next time I get my hands on you."

Her eyes widened and for a moment she seemed to consider it. Then she smirked, dipped her head, and took him in deep.

It hardly took any time at all, especially once she cupped his balls and pressed her thumb against his perineum, moving it in firm little circles as his cock was enveloped by her hot wet mouth and worked by her skillful tongue.

"Like that, yeah, fuck—that—" He lapsed into Spanish punctuated occasionally by her name or a fevered curse in English, then he was spilling down her throat in a salty rush.

She swallowed eagerly, taking everything he gave her, and as soon as he was spent he hauled her up for rough, hungry kisses. His tongue plunged into her mouth like his cock did moments earlier and his hands were careless in her hair and along her back.

"Was it good?" she whispered.

"Incredible, so good, such a good girl, Papi's good sweet girl," he mumbled drunkenly between kisses.

They stayed like that for a while, locked in each other's arms whispering sweet and nasty things to each other, until Olivia's phone beeped and brought them back to earth.

"Shit," she muttered. "I have a meeting this afternoon. New buyer who will only deal with me. That either means total asshole who  _thinks_  he has big money, or actual big money."

He frowned and combed his fingers through her messy hair in an attempt to restore some order. "New? How new?"

"Don't worry, Counselor: even before all of this, my potential buyers were thoroughly screened before they got to me. I don't like to waste my time."

Sighing, he pressed his forehead to hers. "You can't blame me for worrying,  _cariña_. He's still out there, and now he's sent you flowers. That seems…benign, really, especially after he put you in the hospital last week. I just want you safe."

"That's absolutely something we have in common." She re-buttoned his shirt (after planting another few kisses along his collarbones) and tightened his tie. "Are you back to work?"

"For a bit, yes." He hesitated a moment. Then, "Are you free tomorrow evening?"

"As a matter of fact I am," she said. She slid off his lap to help him with his trousers.

"Would you care to have dinner with me?"

Her eyes flicked up to his face as she considered it. What she'd told Sonny the other day had been true: she didn't much like leaving Baloo alone these days, or maybe she just preferred to stay home where she knew no one was watching her. Going out somewhere with Barba was an appealing idea, but so was curling up on the couch with him and making out like teenagers.

"Come to my place," she said. "Baloo and I don't cook, but we're first rate at ordering take out."

Smiling, he helped her to her feet and pushed himself off the chesterfield. "You'd rather stay in?"

"Yes. I'm sort of a homebody these days," she admitted with a rueful smile.

"Nothing wrong with that,  _belleza_." He cupped the side of her neck and kissed her long, sweet, and slow. "Very well. What time should I be there?"

"I'm usually here until late, but I can skip out…somewhat early. Does eight work?"

"Perfectly." He nipped at her lips with his and they kissed a bit more until the phone on her desk rang.

"That's my meeting," she said.

He pulled away reluctantly, planting small kisses all over her face as he did. "Enjoy the scarf,  _hermosa_. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I can't wait."

"Neither can I," he said. He wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her against him. "I would stay now if I could."

"I would ask you to if I could," she breathed against his mouth.

"Fuck," he mumbled. He let out a frustrated breath and let go, this time taking several steps back to put a decent amount of space between them. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie before going for his coat.

"Well," he said. "Good afternoon, Ms. Gable. I look forward to seeing you again soon."

Her lips curved in a delighted little smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Barba. Thank you for the beautiful gift."

"My pleasure, Olivia. Truly." He stood a few more minutes, his green eyes soft and his expression unreadable, before he tugged on his gloves and walked out.

* * *

Rollins unlocked the door and backed into her apartment, carefully maneuvering the stroller so it didn't get tangled in Frannie's leash. "Over here," she said. "Good girl." She gave the dog a pat on the head and knelt to undo the straps holding Jesse in place.

She was just getting to her feet when her phone rang. She checked the Caller ID and scowled. Work. Of course. She'd really been looking forward to a nice Saturday with her kid and her dog, but apparently that wasn't to be.

"Rollins," she said.

"Rollins, it's Benson. We've got a problem."

"I figured," she said, her tone grim. "Lay it on me."

She sighed, and Rollins could hear talking in the background. Sounded like cop-speak. "We've got a body. It's August Rhodes—Olivia Gable's assistant."

Rollins' head fell back. "Please don't tell me it's our guy. It's just a really awful coincidence, right?"

"I don't think so. I'm sending you a picture of the staging now."

She checked her phone and closed her eyes. He was tied to his headboard, and between his splayed legs was a fan of photographs. A closeup revealed exactly what she'd been hoping  _not_  to see: Olivia Gable, in an almost identical pose, clearly unconscious and dressed in frilly pink lingerie.

"Let me see if Kim can stay with Jesse and I'll be right there." She rang off and called her sister, and as soon as Kim got there she headed for the crime scene.

Thirty minutes later she was leaning over the body. "This is bad," she said. He'd been strangled with some sort of cord, but the murder weapon wasn't nearby and the ME couldn't tell exactly what had been used just by looking. "You think it's the same thing he used on Olivia?"

Benson shook her head. "They can compare pictures of her bruise patterns, but from what I remember it looks pretty similar. There's nothing around her neck in these photos, and no bruising yet."

"Do you think he meant to kill her?"

"Doubtful," Benson said. "The real question is whether he meant to kill August."

Rollins stepped back to get a better view of the crime scene. "Based on the staging I'd say yes. Clearly he's trying to send a message. First those flowers earlier this week, and now this; he's saying he can get to her and anyone close to her any time he wants."

Liv bounced her pen against her opposite hand. Her expression was troubled. "We need to get a protection detail on her. There was no sign of forced entry, and there are fluids on the body, but no bruising or other wounds besides around the neck."

"So he had sex before he died, but it's unlikely he was raped. Meaning he knew his killer."

"It doesn't make sense. We've checked out all the men in Olivia's life, and none of them seem good for this."

"Okay, so, maybe this was someone in August's life. Someone new."

Nodding slowly, Benson rubbed her forehead. "Call Fin," she said. "Get him down here, and then head to the gallery to talk to Olivia. I'll stay here to keep working the scene."

"What about Carisi?" Rollins said.

Benson hated keeping him off the case, especially with the squad so short-staffed, but she didn't have much choice. She couldn't let him get close to any suspects without putting the whole case in jeopardy. "I'll send him to the precinct to start running a background check on the vic. He can do friends and family interviews, too."

"This is gonna throw him for one hell of a loop," Rollins said with a grim frown. "He's already worried half crazy about…" She trailed off and waved a hand, knowing she didn't need to explain what (or who) Carisi was worried half-crazy about.

"And that, Detective Rollins, is why you never get involved with a vic. It's a distraction, and distractions are dangerous."

"Doesn't seem like that's the kind of distraction Carisi needs right now."

"If this is any indication," Benson said with a gesture toward the body on the bed, "then it absolutely isn't."

* * *

"Auggie, it's Olivia. Your boss Olivia? I know you're going to have a really good excuse for being over two hours late on a Saturday, and I can't wait to hear it. Please call me. Or come in. Or both. I'm actually starting to get a little worried."

Olivia ended the call and set her phone on the desk with a nervous frown. It was almost two, time for the gallery to open, and she hadn't heard from August. He was supposed to be in earlier to do inventory, but nothing. No one had spoken to him since she let him go early Friday afternoon.

She debated calling Carisi, but that felt premature. Surely he just overslept. Till two in the afternoon. And had turned the ringer off on his phone last night. He'd been excited about his date; he got lucky and now was spending a lazy morning in bed, all thoughts of monthly inventory completely forgotten.

These attempts to reassure herself fell flat, and so she wasn't all that surprised when Detective Rollins appeared at her door.

"What happened?" she said. "Is August okay?"

Rollins frowned. "What would make you ask about him?"

"He's…" She checked her watch. "Almost three hours late, and I've called him about twenty-five times and not gotten an answer. Now you show up. Clearly something's happened to him."

She sighed and gestured toward the sofa. "Olivia, sit down."

She did, slowly, and Rollins joined her. "You're right," the detective said. "Unfortunately August was found dead in his apartment this morning."

"Oh god," Olivia whispered. "Dead?! That can't—he can't be—not just  _hurt_!?  _Dead_?"

"I'm sorry," Rollins said. "It looks like he was strangled."

Olivia's hand fluttered to her throat and tears stood out in her eyes. "It was him, wasn't it?"

"We think—possibly it was. There were photographs." She pulled out her phone and showed Olivia the fan of pictures.

She made a soft noise and looked away. "It's because of me. August is dead because of me. He was twenty-six years old. I had just written a recommendation for him for the art history MFA program at NYU." She propped her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. "I can't believe this. I can't believe he killed someone because of some twisted obsession with me. I can't believe he killed  _Auggie_!"

"Don't blame yourself, Olivia. This guy—he's unbalanced. It could be that in his fixation, he sees any man in your life as an obstacle to you two being together."

"Just men?" she said with a frown.

"I don't know. You should speak to anyone you're particularly close to. Your employees, your best friend Sara…" She trailed off with a little question at the end, and Olivia glanced at her.

"And Sonny," she said.

Rollins lifted a hand in a shrug. "Sonny will understand what this means."

"Hopefully he isn't crazy enough to go after a  _cop_ ," Olivia said, aghast.

"Hopefully not, but honestly we can't bank on that."

"No," she said, "I guess not." She let out a long sigh and sat up. "What do you need from me? I can get you August's emergency contact info, but I know his parents disowned him when he came out. He has a sister in Astoria he still talks to sometimes."

"Okay, good. If you could get me her number that would be great." Rollins pulled out her pen and pad and jotted something down. Then, "Was there anyone new in his life?"

"Yeah. I should've mentioned that right off. He met someone—at the gala. But didn't y'all screen everyone at the gala? And all the caterers?"

"Hm. You're sure it was at the party?"

Olivia's forehead scrunched as she thought it over. "I…well. I assumed it was, but he didn't actually  _say_  that. He told me he met someone Friday night, and I thought that meant—but actually some of them went out after I let them go. A celebratory drink because things went so well. He might've met someone then."

"Do you know who he was with?"

"Um…he mentioned Violet and Matthew, but I don't know for sure. Violet's working today, so you can ask her for more details."

"Okay, that's really helpful." She scribbled for a moment, then glanced up. "You didn't go out with them, though?"

"No. Sometimes I do, but after the week I'd had I just wanted to go home. I didn't get out of here till almost three. I was, um…I was with Carisi all night."

"And where were you last night?"

Olivia gaped at her a moment. "I'm sorry?"

"I just need the check all the boxes here, Olivia."

"I…" She looked deeply uncomfortable, but finally she nodded. "Yeah, I guess I get it. I was at home."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone. I let August leave early because he had a date last night, around two-thirty or so. I didn't leave till six because I had a meeting with a potential new client that lasted forever. I stopped by the store on my way home, and finally got there around seven-thirty."

"Mhmm. Did you talk to anyone? Your neighbor, maybe?"

"No. I FaceTimed with Sara from…I don't know, from eight till nine, maybe? Then I watched some Netflix and went to bed early. It was an incredibly exciting Friday night for a single woman in the big city."

Rollins couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, you should try it with a baby," she said.

Olivia grimaced a little. "Motherhood isn't really for me. I like babies, but I want to be able to hand them back when they start to get fussy."

"That's what I always used to say too." She clicked her pen a few times. "Does Sonny know you feel that way?"

"Sonny?" Olivia said with a curious look. "What does Sonny…oh." Her mouth quirked. "Don't misunderstand, Detective: I like your partner a lot. He's very sweet. But we're not at all serious, and whether or not I want babies doesn't really have much bearing on our current relationship."

"Okay," she said, easily enough. "Just…at the risk of sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong…be careful with him. I'm not sure he's cut out for casual sex."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "To be honest, I'm not sure he is either. But don't worry. I don't want to see him get hurt any more than you do."

Rollins doubted that, though she didn't really doubt Olivia's overall intentions. She'd become very protective of Carisi in the last year or so, and she wanted to see him happy. She'd already delved too much into her partner's personal life for one afternoon, though, so she just nodded. "Fair enough," she said.


	17. Sunday with Barba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After August's shocking murder, Olivia takes comfort in the bottle--and the Manhattan ADA.

Olivia closed the gallery early, and as soon as Rollins was done with her questions, she sent everyone home. She called Sara on her way to her apartment and filled her in on the situation.

"If you want to go stay at a hotel or something—"

"Don't be silly. If any men try to get within fifty feet of me I'll kick them in the balls."

"Okay," Olivia said. "Just be careful. He drugged me. There was no ball-kicking."

Sara sighed. "I know, babe. You're the one I'm worried about. Do you need me to come over?"

"Don't you have a shoot today?" Sara was a photographer—the artist behind the photos Carisi had admired on his first visit to the gallery, in fact—and Olivia was tired of her life fucking up Sara's.

"I dooo, but…"

"No. Work. I've got a doorman now. I'll lock myself in and not leave home until…I don't know. The funeral, maybe." She nodded to the doorman in question and headed for the elevator only to stop short. "Sec, Sar." She pressed the phone to her chest. "Gary, what's up with the elevator?"

"Finally gave up the ghost, Ms. Gable. We've got a call in to get it fixed, but they said it won't be until Monday morning."

She grimaced. "I live on the sixth floor."

"I know. I'm real sorry about it, but they were adamant."

"It's certainly not your fault. Thanks, Gary." She raised the phone to her ear again as she trudged toward the stairs. "Elevator's broken. I'm gonna need all my breath for climbing, so I'll call you back later."

"Okay, babe. Don't stroke out."

"I'll do my best. I knew I should've been more diligent about going to the stupid gym."

She was half-dead by the time she stumbled into her apartment. The high floor was a better view, but she hadn't counted on the ancient elevator ever  _actually_  dying. She locked the door, ignored Baloo, and flopped onto the couch.

She barely moved for the next several hours. She dragged herself to the kitchen for an essential supply run. To the bedroom to change. To the bathroom to pee. Other than that, she camped out where she'd fallen and stared at the ceiling. Part of her wanted to cry, but a larger part just felt numb.

August was dead. Murdered. Her home had been broken into. She'd been drugged and violated, and now the cops had photographic evidence of her ordeal. At least she didn't remember it. That was one small comfort.

Baloo smushed against her and purred. She petted him with absent strokes.

"Why August?" she said aloud. "He never hurt anyone. He was smart and funny and good at his job. Why is the universe so un-fucking-fair?!"

Baloo just gave her a slow blink, cat language for  _I love you_ , and she sighed. "I love you too, big bear. At least he just locked you in a closet."

She made it to the kitchen again, this time for ice cream and vodka, and while normally she wasn't much of a drinker, Olivia figured today called for it. "Cheers," she said to Baloo, upending the bottle for a long swig. "Here's to murder, mayhem, and day drinking."

Several hours later she had finished off that bottle and was almost done with a second when the knock came. Obviously someone on her list since there was no buzz, but who the fuck? Maybe Sonny. Or Sara, come back again despite Olivia's earlier protests.

She fumbled her way to the door and checked the peephole. Oh…shit. What the hell was Barba doing here?

Quickly running both hands through her tousled hair, she opened the door and managed a boozy smile. "Counselor!" she said with exaggerated enunciation. "What a surprise. Are you here about August?"

His face creased in confusion as he eyed her up and down. "August? What's happening in August? That's months away."

She bit down on a morbid giggle. "Not the  _month_ , silly! The person. My assistant, August. He's dead. Or didn't you hear? Scuttlebutt around the station house."

He blinked at her. Her assistant was dead? He got a look over her shoulder and took in the empty carton of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie, as well as an empty bottle of whipped cream flavored vodka, and another nearly-empty vanilla flavored one. "Olivia—"

"Murdered. Yup. Same son of a bitch who's ruinin' my life decided to murder someone just because he knew me."

She spun away, nearly stumbling, and lurched back toward the couch. He stepped inside and closed and locked the door behind him. He'd already taken off his coat during the exhausting hike up six flights of stairs, and now he carefully hung it in the closet while barely taking his eyes off of her.

"I know I shouldn't make this about me," she said. She filled a jelly jar halfway with the remaining vodka and took a swig. "I mean, I'm not the one who's dead. Auggie is. But I'm a selfish bitch and all I can think about is how he'd still be alive if it weren't for me."

She stared into the glass a moment before setting it aside, then squinted up at him. He was wearing jeans ( _jeans_?!) and a button-down shirt with a dark blue v-neck sweater over it. The sweater looked like cashmere. How soft. She wanted to rub her face against it. "What're you doin' here? Since you didn't know about Auggie. You look good. Soft."

He stepped closer, sliding his hands into his pockets. "We had plans this evening. Eight o'clock on Saturday?"

Her mouth fell open and her hands came up to cover her face. "Ohhh  _shit_! I forgot! I'm so sorry, Rafi, I completely forgot. I ate all this ice cream and I—" She paused to hiccup. "I drank a lil bit and I just forgot."

"A little bit?" he said, eyebrows raised. He sighed and sat down next to her. " _Cariña_ , I had no idea about August. I'm so sorry. But you know it's not your fault."

"Yeah it is," she said. "I might as well've strangled him myself."

"Olivia, no."

"And now I forgot our plans and you're here lookin' all…soft and sexy and I really need a shower! Didja know the elevator's broken?"

"I noticed," he said, dryly. "Don't worry about our plans. You've had a terrible day."

"Not as bad as August's!" she said. She let out a long breath and her head fell back so that she was staring up at the ceiling. "Why doesn't he just kill me? Why this bullshit? Why kill someone I care about? Come back here and kill  _me_  and just get it the fuck over with!"

"Don't say that," he murmured. He reached for her, hesitating a moment, but she seemed to sense him there and turned, throwing herself against him much like she did that morning at the hospital. "Don't say that," he said again, into her hair this time. "What would I do without you,  _mi amada_?"

She sniffled and burrowed in closer. "You'd be okay. You barely know me."

He laughed and cupped her face with both hands. Kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose. "Then I would hate to miss out on  _getting_  to know you, wouldn't I?"

"You can be really sweet when you think no one's payin' attention," she said.

"You said that before, sort of. I have a reputation to maintain, don't I? Defendants aren't usually intimidated by  _sweet_."

"True," she said. Suddenly she giggled again and squirmed her way into his lap. "You should know somethin', Rafi."

"Please share,  _princesa_."

She leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "I am so drunk and so horny right now. I'm really glad you're here."

"Ahhh…" He shifted a bit as all the blood in his body rushed south. "I'm not sure now is the best time for us to take care of the second one."

"I think it's the perfect time." She kissed his jaw, scraping the skin with her teeth just a little. "God I love this stubble. Is this a weekend thing? It's so sexy. I want beard burn on my tits and the insides of my thighs."

"Baby, you're drunk," he said.

"Not  _that_  drunk. I know exactly what I want, Papi."

He gently grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away. "Too drunk for me to be comfortable with this,  _cariña_. You've had a hellish day and you've been drinking. How about I make you something to eat and we watch a movie?"

"If I eat something can we have sex after?"

"Let's just play it by ear." He stood and offered her a hand. "Let's go see what you've got in the fridge."

In the kitchen she hopped up to sit on the counter, and he searched through her refrigerator and cabinets. "Kind of sparse in here," he said.

"We could order something."

"I feel like cooking. Hmm…paninis?"

"Sure, that sounds good." She kicked her feet, her heels bouncing lightly against the cabinet, and petted Baloo when he hopped up next to her.

"You're out of mustard," Barba remarked with his head inside the fridge.

"No I'm not," she said.

"You don't have any."

"I don't  _own_  any. There's a difference. Mustard's gross."

He pulled himself away from the appliance and shut the door. "You don't like mustard?"

"Nope. We are a strictly anti-mustard household. Aren't we, my bear?"

Baloo meowed agreement and head-butted her. She scratched between his ears and smiled at Barba. "There's a nice oil and vinegar sandwich dressing in there."

He frowned but decided it would have to do. He made ham and Swiss on a nice whole grain, with the sandwich dressing and some weird green chips she said Carisi had brought over. He ate standing in her kitchen while she sat on the counter, and when she cleaned her plate he gave her several kisses as a reward.

"We could go to bed now, Papi," she breathed.

"Nice try,  _querida_ ," he said. "You promised me dinner  _and_  a movie."

"I like a man who sticks to his guns. Don't put out till you get what you want."

"It's a personal policy of mine," he said with a grin. He stood between her legs, his hands resting gently on her hips, and at this angle they were eye to eye.

"Your eyes are very green," she said, her expression grave.

"So are yours."

She gave a slow, serious nod. "So are Baloo's."

He smiled and stepped back to help her down. "Isn't it nice we all have something in common."

They settled on the couch to watch  _Braveheart_ —one of her go-to comfort movies—but she fell asleep halfway through. He got her into the bedroom and tucked into bed before he grabbed a pillow and extra blanket and settled himself in the bedroom armchair. He didn't want her to wake up before he did and think he'd taken advantage of her altered state, or somehow misremember what happened tonight and be frightened. This way he could keep an eye on her without crowding her, and when she woke he would be there to help her start to deal with what had happened to August.

* * *

The last time Olivia woke with a hangover, it had been in the hospital. This time, thankfully, she was in her own bed, and her head didn't hurt nearly as bad. She slowly opened one eye to see a box of Alka-Seltzer, a bottle of water, and an empty glass on her nightstand. Well. Way to plan ahead.

A small snore, definitely not of feline origin, startled her. Both eyes flew open, despite the morning light streaming in the window, and she saw…Barba. Asleep in her estate sale armchair with the pink-on-pink stripes and atrocious tea roses. Two days' growth of stubble darkened his chin (except where it was gray, to add an extra-sexy twist) and his mouth hung open a little.

Grinning, she opened the bottle of water and threw the lid at him. It bounced off the center of his forehead (amazing aim considering her pounding head) and he woke with a start and a snort.

"Wha—? Oh." He rubbed his face and peered down at the cap resting on his chest. "Did you just throw this at me?"

"Consider it the modern Sleeping Beauty method," she said, keeping her voice pitched low. She poured water in the glass and added two tablets from the box next to it. "Was this you?"

He nodded. "I figured you'd have one hell of a headache this morning, and it's always better to hit it early."

"Thoughtful," she said. Her face twisted in a grimace as she sipped. "Thanks. What happened last night?"

He rose from the chair and stretched out the ache in his back. "I made us sandwiches, then you fell asleep before the English tried to take William Wallace's freedom."

"God. Just how embarrassing was I?"

"Not embarrassing at all,  _cariña_. I promise." He sat next to her on the bed and leaned over to cup the back of her neck and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "Though you did tell me you want beard burn on your tits and thighs."

"Oh, well, that's true." She scratched under his chin and smiled. "This is very sexy, even when I feel like the inside of a dumpster."

He handed her back the lid to the water bottle and stood. "I'll go make something to eat, part two of your tried-and-true Cubano hangover cure."

"Oh god, no, I couldn't eat anything. I'd die."

"Trust me,  _gringita_ : this will help. Would I let you die on my watch?"

She couldn't help but smile. "No, you wouldn't. Fine, I'll try your Cubano hangover cure, but I'm going to complain about it the whole time."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He gave her one of those soft, eye-crinkling smiles before he disappeared out the door.

She finished off her drink, took a few more pulls from the water bottle, and made her shaky way to the bathroom. She needed a shower, and to wash the taste of post-alcohol funk from her mouth.

By the time she finished and returned to the bedroom, Barba was back with a plate and a glass of orange juice. She could smell bacon, which caused a sort of mixed reaction of both nausea and hunger.

"Bacon sandwich—it really needs white bread, because wheat bread has less gluten, but I had to make do—and orange juice. Very effective," he said. He seemed almost unbearably smug, and she was really glad she'd already had the Alka-Seltzer and the shower, or she might've slapped him.

That thought intrigued her in a totally different way, and to distract herself she grabbed the plate and the juice and started to eat. "Weren't you hungry?" she said.

"I'll eat later. I used the last of your bacon for that, and you don't have any eggs. When was the last time you went to the store,  _cariña_?"

"I don't know. Earlier this week." She fiddled with her sandwich and sipped her drink. "I don't like going out, except to work where I'm with people I know. This asshole is turning me into a hermit. And now, with August…" When she lifted her head to look at him her eyes were big and pleading. "Am I safe anywhere? Are the people I care about safe? I feel like I'm going crazy."

"The police are getting closer. They'll catch him."

She didn't say anything else until she'd finished eating. "Everyone keeps telling me that," she finally said. "I believe it. I mean, I have to, or I'd lose my mind…but it's hard."

She drained the last of the juice and he took the dishes from her to set on the nightstand, then crawled into bed next to her. She nestled against him, her ear pressed over his heart. Its beat steadied her, grounded her, and she let out a long sigh. He stroked his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head, but he didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

"You didn't have to sleep in that chair last night," she murmured.

"I didn't want you to think I'd been untoward."

She looked up at him, the dimple in her chin flashing as she grinned. " _Untoward_? After I told you about the beard burn thing?"

"You were drunk, Olivia. Drunk and upset. I wasn't going to let anything happen that you might regret in a clearer frame of mind."

As she studied his earnest face she wondered how she could have been so wrong about him. She'd thought he was an arrogant boor, a jerk of the highest caliber. While he certainly could be arrogant, it was largely earned, and beneath that thick coat of armor he was one of the kindest, most generous people she had ever met.

Sonny wore his heart on his sleeve, a genuine sweetness and goodness there for the world to see, while Barba buried his deep. A smiling golden retriever versus a fierce-looking-but-soft-hearted doberman.

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him long and soft and slow. "I'm not drunk now," she said.

"No, you're not."

He'd discarded the cashmere sweater sometime last night, so she reached for the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes were steady on his, and his mouth was curved in a small smile. She pushed him back onto the bed and kissed down his chest as she worked each button: his collarbones, his sternum, his tummy. She spent some time there, licking and kissing and biting. She sucked little marks onto his skin and swirled her tongue around his bellybutton.

"Olivia…" he murmured. Her mouth was soft and hot, her teeth sharp but gentle, and he felt his pulse rising as she continued her teasing ministrations.

"You have a very sexy tummy," she said, still kissing it.

He laughed. "I tried to tell you the same thing and you argued with me."

She sat up and pulled her t-shirt over her head. "Unfortunately beauty is a ridiculous double standard in our culture," she said, her tone breezy.

"You're beautiful," he said. He ran his hands up her sides to cup her breasts. "So goddamn beautiful.  _Mi pequeña diosa_."

" _Diosita_?" she said with a grin.

Laughing again, he sat up to kiss her. " _Sí_.  _Diosita_. Silly girl." He rolled them over and worked his way down, just as she'd done with him, only he spent forever on her tits and her nipples, until they were aching and tingling and she was whimpering his name.

"More, Rafi, please!"

He groaned and kissed lower, to her tummy, and lower still, tugging her panties down as he went. He bit her thighs. Kissed and sucked the soft skin. She ran her fingers through his hair and he glanced up at her. "Beard burn on your thighs,  _belleza_."

"Not yet," she said. "I want—come here. Please." She tugged him back up and he came readily, dropping soft kisses along the way, until he was stretched out on top of her.

"Tell me what you want, baby girl," he murmured between long, lingering kisses. "Anything you want."

"Fuck me," she said. "But—not like last time."

"You want it easy,  _cariña_?" he said as he kissed her neck.

"Yes," she breathed.

"You want me to love you?"

"Please!" she whispered.

" _Mi amada_ ," he murmured. He ran his hands up and down her body, stroking her like she was something delicate and precious. She reached for his trousers; unfastened them and shoved them down his legs. He kicked them away, along with his underwear, and she wrapped her arms around him.

He started to reach for a condom, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Could we—this time? Without one? I have an IUD, and I was tested for everything at the hospital."

"Are you sure?" he said.

"I want to feel you."

There was something in her face that went straight to the core of him. When she looked at him like that he knew he couldn't deny her anything. "Have you and Carisi…?"

"We always use a condom," she said. "I can't imagine how he would react if I asked him not to." She smiled a little. "He's a good boy who believes in a right way of doing things."

"And I'm not?" he said, mouth quirking.

"You…know when to bend the rules."

"Ahhh, I see." He pulled her legs up as he spoke so that her knees bracketed his ribs. "I know when to spoil you. When to say  _yes_  when maybe I should say  _no_."

"Is that a bad thing?" she said.

He slid into her, slow and deep, and they both groaned. "No,  _hermosa_. Not at all."

"Fuck!" she cried, her voice soft and desperate. "Fuck you feel incredible!"

"So do you," he rasped. "So wet for me, so hot and sweet." He kissed up and down her throat when her head fell back. Sank his teeth in at the spot where her pulse pounded and then soothed the bite with his tongue. He ran his hands along her arms to grip her wrists and tug them above her head. Pinning her to the bed, he started to fuck her slow and easy.

Their eyes met, green on green, and he dipped his head to kiss her again and again. He loved the taste of her, the soft feel of her beneath him, and he couldn't get enough of the way she was looking at him now, so open and vulnerable.

She tilted her hips up to meet him and he moved faster. Harder. Their breath mingled as they gasped; the sound of skin against skin filled the room; sweat slicked their bodies and dripped between her breasts.

"I'm glad—god, Rafi! I'm so glad…"

He gave her jaw a gentle bite. "Glad of what,  _mi hermosa_?"

"Glad—glad it's you! I'm so glad it's you!"

He thought, possibly, he knew what she meant, but rather than ask, he let go of her wrists so he could grab her thighs and pull her legs higher. She raked her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck with a groan.

"I'm glad—it's you—too!" he grunted between deep, desperate thrusts.

She clung to him, whimpering his name like a litany, and when she came it was hard and sudden, a lightning storm, and he followed only moments later. The hot rush of him inside her brought on a second one before the first was even completely faded. She shuddered and moaned in his arms, and he babbled sweet nonsense in her ear until they collapsed against each other.

He turned onto his side so that he could wrap his arms around her completely, and one big hand caressed her back. She pressed small kisses to his chest and ran her nails up his thigh and along his tummy.

"Thank you," she murmured against his skin.

"For what? Making love to you?" He sniffed. "Well, it's a chore, but I suppose someone has to do it."

Laughing, she swatted at his stomach with the back of her hand. "Don't be an ass! I meant—for last night. And this morning. Taking such good care of me and being such a gentleman. The sex is just a really nice bonus."

He tugged at her hair until she looked up at him. "It's my pleasure, Olivia. You needed someone, and I'm just glad it could be me."

She sighed and rolled away, onto her back so that she stared up at the ceiling. "I wish everything were different," she said. "As it is…I'm not sure I should keep seeing either you or Carisi for a while."

"Because of what happened to August?"

She nodded. "Rollins said he could be targeting the men in my life. Or anyone, really, but since he started with Auggie…" She trailed off with another sigh, this one exhausted. "If something happened to either one of you, or to Sara, I could never forgive myself. I'm not sure how I will over what's already happened."

He didn't tell her again that it wasn't her fault. She could hear that a thousand times and probably wouldn't believe it. Instead he kissed her shoulder and pulled her close. "It's Sunday,  _belleza_. Let's order in and do the  _Times_  crossword in bed."

"It seems cruel to make a delivery person climb six flights of stairs."

"We'll tip well," he said. "And it's far less cruel than making me do it again."

She giggled. "Poor  _abuelito_. Defeated by the evil elevator."

"I'm not a grandpa!" he said with a scowl. "I'm forty-six! In the prime of my life."

"That's right,  _abuelito_. You're only as old as you feel."

Growling, he rolled on top of her to kiss and bite at her shoulders. "Keep that up, little brat, and you'll earn yourself a spanking."

"Ooo, promise?" she said with a wicked little smirk.

"Maybe after brunch," he said. "I know a bakery I can probably talk into delivering to this side of town."

"Do they have almond croissants?"

"I'm sure they do."

She grabbed her phone and pressed it against his chest. "Good. Call them."

"Your wish is my command." He kissed her nose. "Stay here. I'll go grab the paper."

He left and she tugged the covers up, snuggling in with a smile. He'd dropped her phone beside her, and she picked it up to flip through her texts. She had a couple from Sara that she'd apparently answered in some sort of drunken haze, and some from Carisi that had been answered even less coherently.

_Sorry about last night_ , she sent now.  _I was drunk._

He answered quickly.  _I figured that much out. you ok?_

_Yeah, relatively speaking. Barba's here._

_oh. that's good. I'm glad you're not alone._

_Sonny…_

There was a silence. Then,  _what? is something wrong?_

_No._  She added a smiley.  _Just thinking about you, that's all._

_yeah? me? what about me?_

_I miss you. But I was thinking…maybe we should…take some time apart. Until y'all catch him._

The typing dots appeared for a while, and finally,  _are you sure? I don't think that's a great idea._

_I don't want you getting hurt bc of me, Sonny._

_I'm a big boy, babe. I can look after myself. lunch tomorrow? we can talk about it then._

She sighed. Why had she even mentioned it? Of course he was going to say no.  _Lunch tomorrow. See you then._

After a quick check of her email, she set her phone aside. It would be pointless to float the same idea past Barba; he'd react the same way Carisi had. She was sure they could take care of themselves, but, then, she would've said the same thing about August forty-eight hours ago. Now he was dead, and Olivia's stalker was off somewhere gloating.

"What's wrong?" Barba said from the doorway.

She looked up at him and swiped at her cheeks. "Nothing. I mean—nothing new. I'm just ready for all of this to be over."

He climbed into bed next to her and dropped the paper between them before leaning in to kiss her. "I know,  _mami_. I am too."

Somehow she dredged up a smile for him. "But let's stop thinking about all of that, at least for a little while. Order me those almond croissants and we'll see if we can finish the crossword. In ink."


	18. Spilled Paperclips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonny goes to Barba's office to talk to him about Olivia, and later tries to prove to her that he can be a bad boy too, dammit!

They did finish the crossword, and then they finished  _Braveheart_  and ate the croissants and had rough, sweaty sex and dozed until the alarm on his phone beeped. Time for Sunday dinner at Lucia's. He dragged her along with him (though, really, her protests were mostly for show), and Lucia's knowing smile when they arrived together annoyed Olivia's stubborn side, but made her well-hidden romantic side melt into a puddle.

"I'm meeting Carisi for lunch tomorrow," she told Barba on the way back to her apartment.

"Okay," he said, his tone mild.

"You're still good with…this?"

He sighed and took her hand. Played with her fingers a moment before bringing it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. " _Amada_ , if something changes, I'll let you know. In the meantime, enjoy him. You have enough stress right now without me adding to it."

She made a soft, reflective sound and leaned into him. It was snowing, and the streetlights reflected off the falling flakes and slick streets as the cab made its way through the Sunday-night quiet of the city.

"I adore you, Rafi. Even when you're being stubborn and arrogant."

He laughed softly. "I adore you too,  _mi querida_ …even when you're being stubborn and infuriating." He leaned in closer to whisper in her ear: "I enjoy spanking you for it, in fact."

Shivering, she tilted her head to look at him. "Would you like to spend the night? Or do you need to get home?"

"I could stay," he said. "I would love to stay."

They stopped by his place so he could run in for fresh clothes and some toiletries, then leaned on each other up the six flights of stairs to her apartment. Baloo was annoyed by the entire arrangement until Barba fed him some treats, then he ignored Olivia for the rest of the night in favor of begging for more.

"Opportunistic little shit," she said, planting a kiss between his fluffy gray ears.

They enjoyed a long bath together in her old porcelain tub, then kissed and snuggled and generally acted like sloppy idiots until she fell asleep. He watched her for a long time: the delicate lines of her profile, the rise and fall of her chest under the old NYU t-shirt, the scrunch of her brow that he soothed with soft kisses.

She turned toward him and snuggled into his warmth with a sweet little noise. " _Te amo, mi_  Olivia," he murmured.

Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a sleepy smile. "Love you too, Rafi. Now quit worrying and go to sleep."

" _Sí, mami_ ," he said with a grin. "Whatever you say."

* * *

Barba was working on his closing statement for a trial, but he wasn't getting anywhere. He preferred to write them longhand, if only to give him something to fiddle with when he got stuck. Right now the gold pen was beating out a rhythm on the wooden surface of his desk until he sighed and tossed it away.

He needed coffee.

He rose and smoothed his tie, but he'd only taken a few steps when the door opened and Carmen poked her head in. "Detective Carisi to see you," she said.

"Carisi?" he said with a frown. "Does he have an appointment?"

"No. He said it's important."

Barba let out a sigh and waved him in. "And Carmen? Could you bring us some coffee?"

"Sure, Mr. Barba."

She opened the door wide enough to let Carisi by. "Counselor," he said.

"Detective. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?"

Carisi waited until the door was closed before he turned to Barba again, a frown on his face. "She'd kill me if she knew I was here, but…I gotta know."

Feigning ignorance, Barba lifted a brow. "What do you  _have to know_ , Detective Carisi?"

He stepped closer, using every inch of his height advantage (though Barba wasn't at all intimidated, much to Carisi's chagrin), and frowned down at him. "Just what the hell are you doin' with Olivia, Barba? Spankin' her? With a  _belt_?!  _Tyin'_  her  _up_?!" He had to take a moment to collect himself and lower his voice "You  _know_  what she's been through! You know that—that  _animal_  tied her up and strangled her!"

Barba rolled his eyes, but before he could reply, Carmen returned with the coffee. Thank God. He was far too under-caffeinated to deal with whatever the hell this was. She set the tray on the table and left, but not before casting Carisi a discrete, curious glance.

"Thank you, Carmen," Barba said as the door shut behind her. He eyed Carisi, then stepped around him to pour from the French press. His assistant spoiled him, and he appreciated every second of it.

"Coffee?" he offered, tone mild.

"I don't want any fuckin' coffee!" Carisi hissed.

"Goodness, Detective, I think that's the first time I've ever heard you use that kind of language. You really are bothered. It's been over a week since I spanked her and tied her up. Did it take you this long to build up a sufficient head of steam?"

Carisi glared at him, and color rose up his neck and along his ears. "What happened between you two yesterday? She told me you were there." He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted a knee out, a pose he often used with perps. Barba, unperturbed, sipped his coffee.

"I'm not entirely sure it's your business, but…" He sighed. "We had a…date, I suppose, scheduled for Saturday evening. When I went over there she was drunk and distraught, so I stayed to make sure she wouldn't drink herself into a stupor. We spent Sunday together, then went to my mother's for dinner. This morning when I left, she was getting ready for work—though she plans to close the gallery for the next few days, until her assistant's funeral." He paused and gave Carisi a look over the rim of his cup. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

Some of the wind left his sails. "You didn't—hurt her again?"

"She wasn't in the mood for rough sex. For further details, you would need to ask her."

"I'm gonna. We're havin' lunch today."

"So she said. Carisi—I get that what Olivia and I did isn't something you enjoy, but didn't she explain it to you? That  _she_  enjoyed it? She asked for it? And, to assuage your concern there, I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't thought she could handle it. I would never actually hurt her or cause her distress. I would never—take advantage of her."

Carisi studied him for a long time, his blue eyes narrow and his face scrunched. Finally he relented a little. "Yeah, I guess I know that. She trusts you, and she said—she said it was what she wanted, and that—that it felt good." He scowled. "I just don't—how could she want that? To be spanked with a belt? I saw the marks on her ass! Especially after—what  _he_  did, how could she wanna be tied up like that?"

Barba sighed again and gestured for Carisi to sit down. He took the chair and Barba sank onto the couch and set his cup on the table. "I can't tell you exactly, but from what I understand…she wanted to take it back."

"Take it back?" Carisi echoed with a frown.

"She enjoys being submissive: being tied up and spanked and…well. I don't have to explain BDSM to you. Though, to be clear, neither of us is into anything extreme. BDSM light, I suppose you could say." He waved a hand. "Anyway. The stalker tried to take that from her. Make her afraid of it. Maybe he knows she likes it, maybe he doesn't, but it doesn't really matter. The outcome is the same."

Carisi scrubbed a hand over his face as he thought it over. "So by lettin' you—someone she trusts—do that to her, by  _askin'_  you to, she's sayin'  _fuck you_  to her stalker."

"Something like that," Barba said. "Have you really been stewing over this all week?"

"She only told me on Thursday," he grumbled.

"Ah. All weekend, then. With images of more bondage play dancing in your head when you found out I was with her Sunday."

Scowling again, Sonny pushed himself from the chair and paced away. "How the hell is this gonna work, Barba? Are we supposed to  _share_  her, like she's—like she's…I don't even know! A steak!?"

Barba cleared his throat to cover a laugh. "A truly delectable steak." He rose and walked closer, burying his hands in his pockets, and his expression was thoughtful. "I take it you've never been in a situation like this before."

"Of course not! Have you?"

He shrugged. "No, not exactly. I've dated people who were seeing other people, but nothing ever this…exclusive."

"You mean—she's only seein' the two of us, and neither of us are seein' anybody else?"

"Mhmm," he said. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Carisi mulled it over, his expression troubled. "Not exactly. It's not somethin' I ever woulda thought—I mean—Jesus, it's not like I got some sorta claim on her anyway. It's been three weeks! So I don't know why I'm so worried about it."

"But you are." He paused. "And I am too."

"Seriously?" Carisi said. "But you seem real cool with it."

He pulled his hands out of his pockets to lift them in a helpless gesture. "I've known her almost the exact same length of time you have, only difference being I spent the first few days pretending I despised her. She likes you. She cares about you. She wants you in her life. I want her to have what she wants, especially now."

"What about later?" he said, quietly. "After we catch the guy and everything's back to normal with her? What then?"

"I don't know what then, Carisi," he said. He reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. Squeezed a little. "I suppose, at this point, we should be prepared to play it by ear. I want her. You want her. What's to say we both can't have her, if she wants us back?"

Carisi stared at him. "You'd be willin' to do this more, uh…long term?"

Barba let go of him and turned back to his coffee. "If it's what she wants, yes. Would you?"

There was a long silence behind him, and he could sense Carisi struggling with it. "I love her," he finally said.

Barba laughed, dryly, and cast a look over his shoulder. "So do I. I guess that answers the question, doesn't it?"

"It's that simple?" He seemed astounded by the idea.

"No. Nothing's ever that simple, but…it's worked so far, hasn't it? You're busy with school and work, I'm busy with…work. So is she. Between the three of us, we've worked it out. You get time with her, I get time with her." He sipped. "Maybe one day we could have time with her…together."

Carisi nearly choked on his own spit. "Together?!" he said, accent thick enough to cut through steel. "You mean, like… _together_  together?"

Barba's mouth curved. "Just an idea, Detective. Think it over. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a closing statement to finish."

* * *

Carisi couldn't get the idea out of his head:  _together_  together. The three of them. So Barba was interested. In him. Maybe. Because otherwise why the hell would he suggest a threesome? You don't consider threesomes with someone you don't want.

Right?

Threesomes, to Carisi, were the stuff of porn, not real life. What would they  _do_? Would it be all about Olivia, or would he and Barba…interact?

Trying to wrap his brain around it was giving him a headache, so he was glad when lunchtime rolled around. He wanted to see Olivia. He wanted to know what she thought about threesomes.

He was on his way back from the bathroom when he nearly collided with her in the hallway. He caught her arm and they both smiled at each other, bright grins that caused a passing patrolman to give a knowing snort. She was wearing green, one of his favorite colors on her: a green dress that stopped at the knee, with her bright hair pulled back and pretty gold earrings glinting when she tilted her head.

For Olivia's part, she was entirely onboard with the vest-and-rolled-sleeves combo he had going on, and it showed itself in her appreciative once-over.

"Hey!" Carisi said. "I was about to text you."

"I was about to text you too. Are we still on for lunch?"

"Yeah, you bet. Let me just—where's your coat?"

"Oh, I've been here awhile." She waved back toward the squad room. "Detective Rollins asked me to come in this morning to answer some more questions about Auggie. I looked for you when I got here, but you weren't around."

"Yeah, nah, I stopped by Barba's office this morning," he said. He led her gently by the elbow, keeping a careful distance between them. He hadn't missed the snort.

"For another case?" she said.

"Uh…" Color touched the tips of his ears, and she gave him a sharp look.

She tugged him out of the flow of traffic and squeezed his arm. "Dominick, please tell me you did not go to Rafael's office to talk to him about  _us_."

He couldn't hold her gaze. He shuffled his feet a little and cleared his throat. "Well, uh—can't tell you that, babe." Some part of his brain not caught up with being in trouble noticed that while normally he hated his Christian name, coming from her it…sounded good. Real good.

Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "What did you say? What did  _he_  say?"

Carisi scowled. "Look, I got every right to go talk to him about this! We're both—"

He glanced around, noticing how crowded the hallway was, and opened the door behind them to pull her inside. It was a supply closet, a cramped little space filled with reams of paper and boxes of staples. The door was inset with a clouded glass window, but there was a lock (for some reason) on the inside, so he flipped it and turned the light on.

If Olivia were surprised to suddenly find herself in a closet, she didn't look it. She mostly still looked pissed.

"We're seein' the same woman, who we both care about a lot. I wanted to—I just needed to know he's takin' care of you, that's all."

"You told me he's a good guy, Sonny. You  _said_  that to me. You told me you trust him. Now you feel the need to go to his  _office_  and  _interrogate_  him? Why would I bother with someone who treats me like shit anyway?"

"I don't know!" he said. "But wo—uh, people—do! I see it every day."

"I'm not one of your victims!" she hissed.

"Yeah you are!" He took her arms in his hands and squeezed gently. "I know you don't like to accept it, Oll, but you  _are_. You're a victim, and victims act in strange ways. When you told me about lettin' him spank you—"

"Oh my god!"

"I got worried, okay? I didn't know what headspace you were in when you asked for that. I wanted to make sure he wasn't takin' advantage of you. I mean, sure, I trust him, but this's different."

"You specifically asked him about  _spanking_  me?!"

"Olivia! That ain't the point!"

"It is to me!" She pressed both hands to her face and shook her head, then let her palms drop and her chin fall back. "Okay, look, let me explain it to you: I like you. You're wonderful. We have fantastic sex. But…there's something Barba gives me, something he does for me, that you can't."

"Spank you," Sonny said, his tone grimmer than he meant.

"Well, yes. But also—he's—" She threw up her hands in a shrug, smacking one of the shelves with her fingers. "Ow."

Sonny took her hand and rubbed it. Pressed kisses to her fingers. "Tight in here," he said. "Be careful."

"That's my point. You're kissing my fingers better after I hit a shelf. That's so— _good_."

"You sayin' Barba ain't good?"

"No, he is. Actually he'd probably kiss them better, too."

"So what's the difference?" he said. His blue eyes were intense, his forehead puckered, and she lifted her other hand to soothe the lines there with the pad of her thumb.

"After he kissed them better he'd probably finger me or something to take my mind off it," she said with a half smile.

"I can do that. I can finger you!"

"That's not—I don't need to be fingered, Sonny!"

"No, I know. You're sayin' I'm a good Catholic Eagle Scout who fucks you in your apartment and not your office. You're sayin' Barba's like some sorta bad boy, and I'm not."

"There's nothing  _wrong_  with that, baby. You are who you are. I  _love_  who you are!"

He paused, frowning down at her. "You love me?"

She sighed. It wasn't how she'd planned to say it, but what was done was done. "Yeah, babe. I do. I love you, and I love him, and you're different and wonderful and I want you both, okay?"

He slid his hand up her arm until he cupped her neck, then leaned down to kiss her. She melted against him; it had been too long since she'd had Sonny kisses; and softly bit his lower lip. "I love you too," he said.

"I know, you dork. You told me."

"Wanted to tell ya again. And kiss ya again." So he did, longer and deeper. His tongue brushed hers and his hand went around her waist and lower, to cup her ass.

"Detective Carisi," she murmured against his mouth. "Gettin' handsy."

"I can be bad, Oll. I can be such a bad boy."

"Nooo. You're my good boy. My good, sweet sunshine boy."

"Lemme show you, baby doll. Lemme show you how bad I can be." He lifted her a little, so that she was perched on the edge of a shelf, and dropped to his knees in front of her. She drew in a sharp breath when he spread her thighs and kissed the inside of her knee.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

He smirked at her and kissed higher, up the soft white skin of her inner thigh. He pulled a leg over his shoulder and she stretched across to slap the light off. She didn't really want this particular silhouette showing on the door's frosted window.

He shoved her skirt up and nipped at the inside of her thigh with lips and teeth. Her head fell back on a gasp, and as he tugged her panties aside she realized how wet she was for him.

"Sonny!" she breathed.

"Gonna eat you all up, little bird," he said. "Sweet little bird." He groaned against her as he lapped up and down her slit, his tongue soft and easy. He spread her with two fingers and circled her clit over and over until she was biting the heel of her hand to muffle soft little moans.

"Oh god!" she gasped. "God, baby, that's so good!"

He grinned and slid a finger inside. She clamped down on a yelp. Grinning even harder, he flicked back and forth across her clit. Swirled his tongue around it. Sucked it. Her thighs trembled and she gripped his hair hard enough to hurt. He loved it.

He got her right to the edge and then pushed to his feet. She gaped at him.

"Sonny? What—?"

"Bad boy, remember?" he said with a smirk. "Can't give you everything you want. Gotta make you squirm a little."

"Of course, how could I forget?" She ran her fingers through his hair, mussing the carefully-smoothed curls. "My bad boy detective."

"That's me," he said. He unzipped her dress and peeled it off her shoulders so that he could kiss and lick the tops of her breasts and her collarbones.

"I want your cock, Detective," she breathed as he bit her throat.

"I don't got a condom, angel. My wallet's in my jacket, which is back at my desk."

Of course he'd replaced his wallet condom. God he made her insides all squishy.

"Doesn't matter. Fuck me, baby. Please? I wanna feel your come drip down my thigh."

"Jesus Christ!" he mumbled. Maybe he wasn't cut out to be a bad boy after all, because hearing her say that made him want to drop to his knees again and worship her with his mouth until neither of them could see straight.

"Please, Sonny?" she said between urgent kisses. "I have an IUD and I've been tested. Please, I need you so bad!"

"Yeah, fuck, yeah—okay, baby, fuck. Need you too!" He fumbled for his belt, but she pushed his hands away and did it for him. The well-tailored slacks fell to his ankles, and his black boxer-briefs followed after. She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and squeezed. He groaned and kissed her roughly.

"Is this for me, Detective?" she said. "All for me?"

"Yeah, baby doll, just for you!"

"That's right. Because you're my bad boy."

"Nuh uh!" He kissed her again, hungrily, and gripped her thighs. "Nuh uh, I'm good. A good boy." Nudging her panties aside, he pushed into her to the hilt, and she breathed a moan into the side of his neck.

"That's right, baby!" she gasped. "So good! God I love it! Love your cock, love you, don't stop!"

"Not gonna, sweet girl." He pulled out and thrust in again. Buried his face in the curve of her shoulder and gripped the shelf behind her with one hand as he fucked her hard and fast. A ream of paper tumbled from above them, and he just managed to dodge it. He wasn't so lucky with a box of pens; it clipped his shoulder; but he ignored it.

"We're making—fuck, like that!—a mess!"

"I'll pick it up," he grunted.

"Of course you will, good boy. My good boy, my sweet boy, my Sonny!"

He moaned and mouthed her soft skin. She felt amazing, so hot and wet. He'd never had sex without a condom before, and the intimacy and immediacy of it staggered him. He wondered (with the tiny part of his brain capable of wondering anything) if she'd done with this Barba.

Probably.

He couldn't believe what a turn-on that was.

Neither of them spoke again, and the tiny closet was filled with wordless grunts, soft moans, and the sounds of office supplies bouncing off shelves and hitting the floor. They kept waiting for someone to knock, but no one did, and it was hardly any time at all before she was whispering his name and tugging at his hair.

"Gonna come!" she breathed. "Gonna come, Sonny, oh fuck!"

He kissed her. Bit and sucked her lower lip. Drove up into her until he had to press his hand over her mouth to quiet the sounds she made. She came hard, shuddering and gripping his shoulders, and at the incredible feel of her, he couldn't hold back.

"Love you!" he whispered. "Love you, little bird, love you so much!" One more stuttering thrust and he came with a rough moan, emptying himself into her and raining kisses all over her face.

"Oh god," she whimpered when he finally uncovered her mouth. "Christ, Sonny, we just fucked in a supply closet!"

He gave a soft, breathless laugh. "Bet you never thought I'd do that, did ya?"

"No, sweet boy, I certainly didn't. You're full of surprises."

He eased out of her and fished in his pocket for his handkerchief. "Here ya go," he said, blushing. "I made a mess."

"Yes you did. Look at this closet!"

"I'll, uh. I'll pick it all up. Oh geez. This box of paperclips busted open."

She giggled at his look of distress. Kissed his nose. "Sonny, listen to me. Are you listening?"

He pulled his pants up and she helped him with his belt. His expression was intent as he watched her face. "I'm listenin', babe."

"Good. Because you need to know, at the risk of quoting one of my least-favorite Billy Joel songs, that I love you just the way you are. I love that you're so sweet and conscientious and considerate. It's what attracted me to you in the first place."

Helping her off the shelf, he rested his hands on her waist and offered a sheepish smile. "And here I thought it was my fantastic taste in art."

"That too," she said with a soft grin. She went up on her toes to kiss him.

"Are you mad I talked to Barba?"

"Not mad, exactly." She reached behind her to zip her dress, but he stopped her and did it himself. "I guess if we're going to make this work, you two need to communicate too."

"You know—he said the weirdest thing. I'm sure he was jokin', but—I dunno. Maybe he wasn't."

She straightened his tie and ran her fingers through his hair until it was more or less back in place. "What kind of weird thing?" she said. "How's my lipstick?"

"Perfect. Wow. That's some serious lipstick."

"I was meeting you for lunch. I thought there might be kisses."

"It's good to be prepared."

"Spoken like a true Eagle Scout. Now, what did Barba say that has you so tangled up?"

He sighed and tucked his hands in his pockets. "He sorta—kinda—mentioned the possibility of maybe. In the future. The three of us. At the same time."

"A threesome?" she said, lifting a brow. "The idea has occurred to me."

"It has!?"

"Well yeah. What's hotter than fucking two sexy, gorgeous men separately? Fucking them  _together_ , that's what!"

"Oh shit," he said.

"Don't worry, baby. That's a plan for way down the road, if it ever happens. I don't want to rush into anything. Threesomes are complicated." She kissed his cheek and reached for the doorknob. "We can talk about it some more over lunch. Come on, Detective; I've worked up quite an appetite thanks to you."

He took a moment once she left the closet to straighten up as best he could, then trailed after her toward the squad room to collect their coats.

Threesomes could be complicated, huh? Logistically, emotionally, or both?

And did that mean she'd  _had_  a threesome before?

That was almost more than his post-coital brain could handle, and as he watched her talking to Rollins, he felt a stirring in his pants that felt entirely premature.

When Olivia glanced his way and offered a wave and a smile, the stirring became a twitch. How would she feel about lunch at his place?

He needed a fresh handkerchief anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There've been a lot of questions about threesomes lately, so I've addressed the topic some in this chapter. Basically: very unlikely to happen within the scope of this fic. The possibility of a "missing piece" type deal, like I did with my SOA fic Come With me Tonight, is something I'm considering.


	19. The Elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia is worried by the presence of the elevator repair team in her building. Later, she invites Barba and Carisi over for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been such a long wait between updates this time, loves! I ran out of steam a little. :/ But honestly comments help me SO MUCH, so if you're reading and enjoying, why not drop a line? :)

Wednesday, and the elevator in Olivia's building was still broken. Apparently, due to the building's age, they'd needed to order a part to fix it. Her legs and ass were going to look amazing before this was all over, and even Alan said he'd cut his and Tink's usual evening run in half because running up six flights of stairs was even better.

The gallery was closed to the public until after August's funeral on Thursday, so she slept in a bit and headed that way a little after nine. Part of her argued against closing: Sami's show had opened at MOMA, increasing their traffic further, but in the end she and the staff decided it was better. August was too much part of Jameson on Franklin to just hang a wreath on the door and go on.

She took the time to meet with potential artists and clients, as well as finalizing the calendar through the next six months or so. She'd never been quite so organized, and it felt nice. She hated that August's death was the reason why.

A team of men in coveralls were in the stairwell as Olivia descended. The elevator repair company. The faces were all familiar from yesterday, save one. They nodded at her as they passed, except the one she didn't recognize. He averted his eyes and concentrated on the stairs.

She felt a tiny chill as she went by them, a little deeper than the normal unease that came from walking by a group of unfamiliar men.

_They've been vetted_ , she reminded herself.  _They're just here to fix the elevator._

These words in mind, she took a deep breath, smiled, and hurried on down the stairs. As she got close a familiar scent hit her, and she froze.

Brief flashes, like a strobe light illuminating a dark room: pink ruffles; thin rope; a camera's flash. Cold white tile and skin ripping beneath her nails.

"Miss?" a voice said. It was one of the repairmen. "Miss, are you okay?"

Olivia shook herself and tried to breathe. "Yeah, yes, sorry. Just remembered—something—sorry, I'm late." She took off down the stairwell, nearly tripping, and banged into the lobby. Gary the doorman gave her a startled look as she rushed past, and it wasn't until she was safely in a cab that she could even begin to pull herself together.

She called Carisi as soon as she could think straight.

"Hey, doll. This's a nice surprise!"

"The elevator guys were cleared, right?"

"What?" he said. "Babe, what's wrong?"

"The elevator repair guys, Sonny! Y'all checked them out, didn't you?! All of them?" She knew she sounded hysterical; the cabbie was peeking at her from the rearview mirror; but memories she'd thought she'd never get back were rushing at her like a goddamn tsunami, and she thought she might drown.

"Olivia, slow down. What's wrong? What happened?" His soothing tone did its job, and she managed a long breath before she spoke again.

"Remember the night of the break-in, when I told you about that cologne?"

"Yeah," he said. "You said the first thing you noticed was a smell. Cheap cologne."

"Right." She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the seat. "I smelled it again. I mean—it's like something from a drug store. It's common. But, god, Sonny, the second I smelled it—I started to remember."

"Remember what? The break-in?"

"Yeah, that. But also the night of the assault. Not much, just tiny pieces, but—fuck." She pressed a hand to her face. "Just—you checked them, right?"

"Of course we did. I did most of the background checks myself. But, listen, I'll talk to Liv. She can send Fin and Rollins down there to interview everyone."

She sniffled. "I don't them to waste their time."

"It's not a waste of time," he said. "Smell is the strongest sense tied to memory; the scent of that cologne triggered you, and, yeah, it might just be a coincidence, but it might not. We gotta check it out."

"Thank you," she said, her voice small.

"Where are you now? Home?"

"No, in a cab on my way to the gallery."

"I can be there in half an hour."

"No, babe, that's silly. You're busy, and I'll be fine."

There was a pause, and she figured he was going to argue with her. Instead he said, "Okay, well, why don't you stay with me tonight?"

Her tense mouth softened into a fond smile. "I don't want to leave Baloo."

"Of course not. The fur ball's invited too."

"That's sweet, Sonny, but…I really don't want to let this guy drive me from my home. It's  _my_  place,  _my_  apartment, and I'm not letting him win."

She heard him draw a deep sigh. "Yeah, I knew you'd say that. I had to offer, though."

"Of course you did. My hero." She picked a bit of cat hair off her skirt. "Listen, I was thinking maybe you should come over for dinner tonight. You and Rafael, if you're both free."

"Uh. What? Both of us? For dinner? Together? All three of us?"

She bit down on a laugh. "Relax, Detective: just dinner. I thought it would be good for us to talk, especially after our conversation on Monday."

"Oh," he said, sounding deeply relieved. "Yeah, I mean, that's probably a good idea. Did you talk to Barba yet?"

"Nope. I just had the idea this morning, and I'm calling you first. Because I nearly had a panic attack on the stairs."

"Babe, are you sure you're okay? I can seriously come to the gallery. It can even be in an official capacity. You know, as part of your protection detail."

"You're so sweet," she said. "I love you. But, yes, I'm okay. I mean…not great, certainly, but okay. I just need to work. It'll help."

"If you need me, you know where I am," he said.

"I do. Thank you, Sonny."

"Yeah, course. Least I can do for my best girl." A pause. She could tell he was blushing. "Listen, doll, I gotta go," he said. "I gotta talk to Liv about the elevator guys. But dinner sounds good. Lemme know what time."

"Will do, Detective. Love you."

"Love you too. Be careful."

They both hung up, and she felt considerably better than when she'd called. It was probably just a coincidence, like he'd said. Ubiquitous cologne that you could get at any CVS or Duane Reade.

But the new guy. The way he'd avoided looking at her.

She shuddered and hit Barba's contact button. She hoped he would say yes to dinner, too; she wanted both of her guys close tonight, because despite her brave words to Carisi, she  _was_  scared, and part of her wanted to grab Baloo and run as far and as fast from New York City as she possibly could.

* * *

 

Carisi stopped by the gallery just after lunch to tell her that everyone on the elevator repair crew checked out. At least everyone they'd  _talked_  to. Apparently one of the guys had called in sick, so they'd picked up a last minute replacement…who then wandered off the job sometime around mid-morning.

"So it was him," Olivia said.

"You don't know that," Carisi told her.

"Sonny, please. It was him," she said with a snort.

He rested a hand on his hip and frowned at her. She stared back, expression steely, until at last he threw his palm up in defeat. "Yeah, okay, it was probably him. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I just wonder why he went to all the trouble to impersonate an elevator repairman when he's always been able to access the building without any trouble before."

"There are cameras now," he said. "Plus your doorman, and the cop car sitting outside."

He could tell she wasn't listening. Her eyes were glazed, and she looked past him into some unknown point in the distance. "Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to get where I am?" she said, dully. "Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to get an art gallery up and running, especially in an economy like this one? No one's cared about the arts since the stock market went balls up, and now we've got a president who wants to cut funding completely and destroy PBS. I've fought and scratched and clawed for everything I have, and now some…crazy freak…wants to destroy my life. For no reason."

He tucked his hands in his pockets and ducked his head. Blew out a long breath before peeking up at her with a furrowed brow. He didn't know what to say. Assure her again that they'd catch him? Remind her once more that she could come stay with him? Tell her for the hundredth time that he would never let anything bad happen to her?

But bad had already happened. Her place had been broken into. She'd been attacked. Her assistant was  _dead_. At this point all of his promises and assurances rang hollow even in his own ears.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," he finally said. "I wish I could do somethin'. I just wanna get my hands on this asshole."

"Me too," she said with a brief grimace. "He'd very quickly realize he's been messing with the wrong Southern Belle."

He shuffled closer. "You'd kick his ass, huh, baby?" he said, his mouth curving.

"I'd fuck his shit up."

"My little Amazon warrior." He grabbed her by the waist and tugged her to him.

She went with a scowl. "Nuh uh, no kissing. I don't wanna kiss you."

"You mad, babe?"

"Not at you, but yeah. I'm pissed. And I don't want you trying to cheer me up."

"No?" He nuzzled at her ear. "Not even a little?"

"Sooonnnnnyyyy!"

Grinning, he kissed her jaw. "I didn't know Amazons came in convenient travel size."

"Living on a man-less island with a race of warrior women sounds pretty appealing right about now," she grumbled.

"You aren't gonna cut one of your boobs off, are you?"

"It's not boobs I'm interested in amputating at the moment," she said.

"Hm," he said. Just to be safe he let her go and took a step back and cleared his throat. "It looks like we're gonna get a good sketch from the other repair guys, though. That's something."

"More than we've had so far." She frowned and crossed her arms over her belly. "I don't understand why he'd be so careless now, after he's been so careful before. Just join up with this work crew like no big deal? He's got to be on camera in the building, and like you said—the other repairmen saw his face."

"I don't know." He moved to her again and ran his hands up and down her upper arms. "Sometimes this happens with these guys. He's gettin' desperate."

"He killed someone. That's escalation, right? I mean…I watch cop shows."

"Yeah," he said with a rueful half-smile, "it's definitely escalation. This is the point where guys like him start to slip up, especially if he's young. Never done anything like this before."

"What if he goes after someone else, Sonny? Sara or my employees? Or you or Rafi?"

"Now why would he do that, babe? He's crazy, yeah, but he's not  _crazy_  crazy. Not enough to come after a cop or an ADA."

She frowned at him. "Sara and my employees aren't cops or ADAs."

"Well…no…but we've got a car sittin' on this place, and on your friend's building."

"Seems like the NYPD is expending a lot of resources on one guy."

"It's because we feel like we're close to catchin' him. We'll get the sketch out to all your neighbors, your employees, Sara and everyone in her building. Basically anyone who's been around you the past month or so. Someone's gonna recognize him. We're almost there, Oll. I can feel it."

"Feel it, huh? Where?" she said. Her smile was teasing now. "Here? In your tummy?" She patted the area in question and he sucked it in.

"Now Ms. Gable, that's no way to treat an officer of the law," he said. "I'm on duty, protecting and serving. I can't have you touching my tummy."

She giggled and rested her arms on his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Detective Carisi. I don't mean to distract you from your very important duties."

"I thought you didn't want me cheering you up," he said even as his hands came up to clasp her waist.

"Oh I don't. Not at all."

He walked her backwards toward her desk. "Seems like maybe you do. Have no fear, Ms. Gable: I'm just the man for the job."

"I know you are, Detective," she murmured, tilting her head back for his kiss.

His lips just brushed hers when his phone buzzed. He winced, sighing, and held up a finger as he reached in his jacket pocket. "Shit," he said. "It's work. I gotta go."

"Duty calls, Detective Carisi."

"Unfortunately. Sometimes it has really shitty timing." He leaned in for a long, lingering kiss, then a quick one to her forehead. "See you tonight for dinner?"

"Yep. Rafi promised to be at my place by eight."

"Okay." He paused. Fiddled with his phone a moment before stowing it away again. "Are you sure about…both of us?"

She sighed and slid off the desk. Ran her hands down the front of his jacket and smoothed his tie. "Just dinner, baby. We need to talk."

"Yeah. I guess we do." He gave her one more kiss before heading for the door. "I meant what I said, doll: we're close. I think he really fucked up this time."

"I believe you, Detective. You're very good at your job."

He flashed her a blinding, face-scrunching grin. "Damn straight!"

* * *

 

Olivia supposed that even when there are two of them, when your boyfriends were an ADA and a cop, you had to get used to them being late. Boyfriends. Is that what they were?

Whatever. Semantics aside, it was twenty after, and neither of them were here yet. Barba had texted that he was running late but on the way. Sonny she hadn't heard from, which was a little strange, but if he'd gotten busy with a case it was understandable.

Her doorbell rang at eight twenty-five, and Barba stood there with an apologetic smile and an expensive bottle of wine. "I'm so sorry,  _cariña_ ," he said, offering both the bottle and a kiss. "I tried to get out as quickly as I could, but it seems like there's always something."

"It's okay. I own my own business, so while I'm not putting criminals in prison for committing horrific crimes, I do know how things can come up." She stepped inside and left him to hang up his coat while she opened the wine.

He looked around with a frown. "Carisi's not here yet?"

"Nope. I thought for a minute it was just going to be Baloo and I."

"Haha. I would never stand you up,  _belleza_." He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. She leaned against him with a happy little noise. "I've missed you," he murmured.

"I know, Papi. I've missed you too." She turned to face him, but he pulled back before her kiss. Something in his expression made the little danger alarm ping inside her skull. "Rafi, what's wrong?"

"It's—nothing. I'm sure it's nothing." He leaned in for the kiss, but this time she was the one to pull away.

"In my life these days very little is nothing. Tell me. Please."

He sighed and let go to pace away, hands on his hips. "When you mentioned that Carisi would be late too, I stopped by the squad room on my way over. Just to see how he was progressing, or if he wanted to share a cab."

Her brow creased. "And…?"

He spun back and spread his palms. "Liv said he left about ten till. Apparently I just missed him."

Olivia froze. The alarm in her head turned to a full-on siren. "Rafi…that's not possible. It's almost eight thirty, and you're here. There's no way you beat him."

"That's not true,  _amada_ ," he said in a tone designed to soothe. "He might have stopped on the way. For flowers or wine. Dessert, maybe. You know how he loves his cannoli."

"Why wouldn't I have heard from him?" She grabbed her phone off the table and checked her texts. There was one from Rafi saying he was on the way, but the last one from Carisi was at seven thirty telling her he would probably be late, but he'd be there as quickly as he could. "Look, no text saying he was on his way. No text saying he stopped for something."

"He would want to surprise you," he said. He took the phone from her and pocketed it before gently massaging her fingers with both hands. He kissed them and offered her a smile. "He'll be here soon,  _querida_. It's possible he even went by his apartment to change clothes."

"He keeps a change of clothes in his locker at work," she said. She tugged her hand back. "Rafael, please, you know him. You know he would text with an update, especially if he'd already left."

"Yes," he said after a pensive moment. "Yes, you're right. It's why I brought it up. I'll call Liv and double-check the time." He gave her back her phone, and she immediately called Sonny while he turned away to speak to Benson.

"Shit," Olivia mumbled. Then, louder, "Shit! Straight to voicemail. His phone never goes straight to voicemail." His greeting ended and she made her voice as bright as possible. "Hi, baby! It's me, Olivia. It's, ummm…eight thirty-three, and Rafi said you left the station at ten till? Just give me a ring and let me know what's up. Love you! Bye."

She hung up in time to catch the tail-end of Barba's conversation with Liv. "It went straight to voicemail. … I know, she said the same thing. … Okay, let me know. Thanks, Liv."

"She said—"

"I got the gist. Rafi, did anyone tell you about the elevator guy?"

He frowned. "What elevator guy?"

Olivia filled him in on the events of that morning, and his frown deepened to a scowl. "But Carisi wasn't one of the officers questioning the repairmen, right?"

"No, I don't think so. He said Fin and Rollins would be doing it. He came to the gallery this afternoon to fill me in, and he told me they would be able to get a sketch." She sounded exhausted, and when she sank down onto the couch he sat next to her and pulled her against him.

"It's going to be okay,  _cariña_. Carisi is careful and clever."

"He's also the single most reliable human being I've ever met. If no one's heard from him since he left work, and he's over thirty minutes late getting here, something's wrong." She looked up at him, the emotion naked on her face. "I know it, Rafi."

"Okay, all right." He kissed the top of her head. "Let's think. Does he have a landline?"

"Knowing him, probably. I don't know it though."

"Rollins probably would. I'll call her and find out, and Liv can reach out to a precinct near his apartment."

"House," she said, sniffling a little. "He still lives on Staten Island in a house he fixed up himself."

He tried to hide a smile, but ultimately failed. "Of course he does." He called Rollins while Olivia sent Carisi several texts. "Okay," he said after a brief conversation, "she's got it."

He repeated the number back to her, but she got voicemail. Another message, another call to his cell that went unanswered, and meanwhile Barba was talking to Liv about sending uniforms to check his place.

"I don't know," Olivia heard him say. "But he did go after her assistant."

It was clear from his expression he hadn't wanted her to overhear that part of the conversation. "Call me when you hear something," he said and hung up. "She's making the call now."

She shook her head and tapped her phone against her pursed lips. "He could be dead, Rafael. God, if something's happened to him because of me—"

"Baby, don't. Don't torture yourself like that. Maybe he's having car trouble and his phone died."

"He doesn't drive into work. And can you imagine Dominick 'Eagle Scout' Carisi letting his phone die?"

He sighed. The problem with any excuse he could think of was that none of them rang true for someone like Carisi. He was the guy who was always on time, and if for some reason he wasn't, he  _always_  called. He never let his phone battery die. He never let messages or texts go unanswered. If he'd had a family emergency, he would have called. If the train were delayed, he would have called. He never let someone just sit and worry about him.

Unless he had no other choice. Unless somehow he'd lost his phone or hit his head or…been assaulted by his girlfriend's lunatic stalker.

Barba folded her into his arms and held tight. " _Lo siento, mi corazon._  He's smart and strong. They'll find him, Olivia. They'll find him, and he'll be okay."

She clung to his shirt, her small body shaking as she cried, and hoped he was right. He had to be right.


	20. Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonny finds himself in quite a pickle, and Olivia rejects her protective detail.

The first thing Sonny Carisi noticed as consciousness started to return was that his head ached. The second thing was that his shoulders ached. Various smaller discomforts added to the chorus, but his head was clearly the bandleader. And holy  _shit_  was it a loud band.

When he tried to lift a hand to cradle his poor head, he found that he couldn't. Because his arms were tied behind his back.

Hence the aching shoulders.

There was also a bag over his head, which explained why it was so dark and everything smelled like dirt, burlap, and potatoes.

But he was alive, so that was something. How the hell did he get here?

He licked his lips with a sandpaper tongue and tried to remember. He recalled having to stay late at work. Texting Olivia to let her know. But he'd gotten out earlier than he thought, and in his haste he'd forgotten to text again to tell her he was leaving.

The kid on the street. On the way to the subway. There'd been blood on his shirt and his lip was split and Sonny had followed him into that alley to try to talk to him.

After that, nothing.

He cursed himself for an idiot: he'd been lured into that alley by a hurt kid. Not a little kid, either; the guy was probably seventeen or eighteen; but he'd been so skinny, with huge eyes in a pale face, and the blood had seemed so goddamn  _red_. He'd looked like a kid who had nobody, and Carisi thought if he could at least get him to a shelter or something…

Olivia was expecting him at her place, and when she couldn't get ahold of him she would know something was wrong. His squad might already be looking for him now.

That was comforting, but only barely. He figured, of course, that whoever had grabbed him was probably the same guy who was stalking Olivia and had murdered her assistant. Why take him? Why not break into his place and kill him the same way he'd killed August?

Whatever, don't look gifthorses in mouths and don't wonder why deranged stalkers decided on kidnapping rather than murder. Whether they were looking for him or not barely mattered anyway, because as of that evening they'd still had no idea where Micah Ramirez was holed up, or if he was even for sure the stalker.

That kid on the street definitely hadn't been Ramirez. Too young. And the sketch they'd gotten from the elevator crew didn't match Ramirez's mugshot.

Okay, so, taking stock:

Hands: tied.

Head: banged and bagged.

Location: unknown.

NYPD: possibly mobilized, but probably clueless.

It didn't take a Magic Eight Ball for Carisi to know that his outlook was not good.

He sighed, and the puff of air only increased the potato smell inside the bag. His nose itched.

Shaking all of that side, Carisi tried to concentrate. Could he smell anything  _besides_  dirt? Oil, maybe…or grease.

Could he hear anything? Possibly traffic, but muffled.

There wasn't any light filtering through the burlap, so he didn't think he was in a room with windows. A basement?

"Hello?" he called. "Hey, anyone there?" The sound didn't go anywhere, didn't echo. A basement…which didn't really narrow down anything at all, but it was better than nothing, and concentrating on figuring shit out was helping to keep panic at bay.

Suddenly he heard heavy tread on wooden stairs, and before he could say anything, the bag was ripped off his head and a blinding light shone in his eyes. He winced away from it, screwing his eyelids shut, and he muttered a curse.

"You yellin'?" a rough voice said.

"Just sayin' hey," Carisi mumbled. "Seemed polite."

"Don't get smart with me, asshole. You think I don't know who you are? A goddamn cop. Too busy fuckin' the people you're supposed to be protectin'."

"Just the one," he said. "And she started it."

A huge hand came out of nowhere and backhanded Carisi across the face. Bells clanged, the world spun, and he turned his head to spit blood.

"Ow."

"Watch your mouth, asshole."

"Detective Carisi. My name," he said before spitting again.

"Yeah, I know your name. You got a new name now, and it's  _asshole_."

He cleared his throat and carefully probed the split on his lip with the tip of his tongue. "What should I call you?"

" _Boss_ ," the faceless voice grunted.

"Okay, boss. That works. Why'm I here, boss? Why didn't you just kill me? You know you get the needle for killin' a cop, right?"

The man growled. "Ain't gonna kill you, asshole. I just gotta keep you away from  _her_."

"Oh yeah? Why's that? It's not like I'm the only cop camped out at her door…though as far as I know, I'm the only one in her bed. Is that it? You think with me locked in your basement there'll be room for you?" He shrugged. "In my experience women usually like to be wooed a little more gently."

"Wooed?" He laughed, harsh and grating. "You think I wanna  _woo_  her? That whore? Please. Bitch needs to pay: pay for ruinin' people's lives. Pay for whorin' her way through life. Pay for gettin' every goddamn thing she's ever wanted by steppin' on anyone in her way. She's a user and a—"

"Whore. Yep, got it. What'd she do to you?" Carisi figured if he could keep the guy talking, he couldn't be out hunting Olivia. And it would buy his squad some time to try to find them. He didn't really trust the word of a lunatic stalker-slash-murderer, so the longer they chatted, the longer Carisi had to live.

"Me?" He snorted. "Not a goddamn thing. Never actually met the bitch. But my baby sister…" He trailed off. "What the fuck you care anyway? I seen you two together. You don't give a fuck about me or my sister. Just that whore."

"Whatever you say, boss. I just—why'd you kill her assistant? He wasn't fuckin' her."

"She's gotta learn," he said. "People get hurt. People die. Actions got consequences."

"Is that what happened to your sister? She got hurt?"

Silence.

"Look, boss, I got three sisters of my own. All older, but still—if somethin' happened to one of 'em, I'd be ready to kill somebody too."

"She—" He broke off, and was quiet for so long Carisi thought he wouldn't continue. Finally, "She killed herself. Took too many pills, bag over her head, slit her wrists. She was—real fuckin' serious about it."

"Jesus," he said with a wince. "Sounds like it. I'm sorry about that, boss. I can't imagine what it musta been like, losin' a sister like that."

"Shut the fuck up. You don't give a shit about me or my sister."

"Yeah, so you said, but here's the thing: I do. I mean, sure, you kidnapped me and hit me and you're stalkin' my girl, but I didn't become a cop for the glamour and the glitz. I care about people. People who're hurtin'. Your sister dyin' like that, that's about as rough as it gets. I don't know what I'd do if I were in your shoes, boss. I really don't."

Part of him meant it, too. What would he do? How would he handle it? His family was everything to him, and if one of his sisters were hurting that bad, was that desperate to end her own life, how would he feel?

Like a goddamn failure. Like a joke of a brother who hadn't given a shit about one of the people who'd mattered most. He shifted in the uncomfortable chair. He didn't really want to identify with this guy, just  _act_  like he did.

"But, boss, if I can ask…what does Olivia have to do with it? She didn't put that bag on your sister's head or hold the razor. She didn't shove pills down her throat. So why you blamin' her for it?"

"She  _knew_!" he roared, so loud that Sonny started back and almost tipped the chair. "She knew what that monster was and she didn't tell until she  _wanted_  to! She wanted four years.  _Four years_! Until there was somethin'  _she_  wanted, somethin'  _she_  needed, and in the meantime that fuckin'—that— _thing_!—was hurtin' other girls. He was hurtin'  _my sister_! So, yeah, I blame her. If she'd told the truth sooner, it never woulda happened. My sister'd still be alive, and that little bitch still could've gotten the money."

"Money? What money?"

"The pageant." He just sounded tired now, as if his outburst had exhausted him. "She sued the pageants and that monster and they settled for some huge amount of money. That's how she affords that fancy apartment she's got, and all those nice clothes and shit. The settlement."

" _She_  sued?" Carisi said. "Or her parents did?"

"The fuck's it matter? Result's the same. That greedy bitch got everything, and Kaley got nothin'. Nothin' but dead."

Olivia hadn't said anything about a civil suit, and their investigation hadn't turned it up. Must've been sealed; that would explain why he didn't know the exact amount. It might not've even been that much. Not that it mattered: a civil suit was par for the course in situations like Olivia's.

"So Bill Peterson abused your sister—Kaley—in between Olivia bein' abused the first time, and her gettin' caught with him?"

"That's right."

Carisi sighed. "Boss, look—she was  _twelve_. She was a victim, too."

"Right. That's why she was caught with her mouth on his cock: the perfect little victim. Look, asshole, I get why you're fuckin' her. She's a hot piece. But I think I'm ready for you to shut the fuck up now. I got shit to do."

He stuffed the bag back over Sonny's head and extinguished the light.

"You know the NYPD's lookin' for you," he said through the burlap. "If you get anywhere near her, you'll have so many cops up your ass you won't know what hit you. Just lemme go. I'll talk to the DA, explain your situation. They'll go easy on you."

"Keep your mouth shut, or I'll tape it shut. You're not goin' anywhere. Not till that bitch is dead."

Sonny heard him moving away, shuffling across what sounded like a dirt floor. "Look, hey, boss, I gotta piss. Could you at least let me—"

"Piss yourself,  _Detective_. I don't give a fuck." He stomped back up the stairs and slammed the door behind him.

"Fuck!" Sonny screamed. He yanked against the bonds holding his wrists. Rocked in the chair and jerked, hoping to break it. All he got for his efforts was an increased pounding in his skull and raw wrists.

He needed to be calm. He needed to think. And he needed to get the fuck out of here before "boss" made good on his promise.

* * *

"She's refusing to let us take her into protective custody," Benson said to Barba. "She's insisting on staying here. He knows where she lives, and if he's already been bold enough to snatch a cop off the street—"

"I know, Liv. Trust me, I know. I can try to talk to her, but usually once she's made up her mind, there's no changing it. She's stubborn." He smiled a little. "It must be something about the name  _Olivia_."

"Very clever, Counselor," she said, dryly. "Just see if you can make some headway."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Where is she?"

"Bedroom. Not packing."

Barba nodded and headed in that direction. The door was closed, and when he knocked she called for him to come in. She sat slumped in the pink striped chair, head in her hands.

"Whatever you're going to say, don't," she said without looking at him. "I'm not taking protective custody, and I'm not leaving here. Also I want all these cops  _out_! I want the car off my block and the goddamn police  _out_  of my building!"

He sighed and pulled her to her feet so he could lead her to the bed. She resisted, but eventually she followed him and they perched on the edge of the mattress together. He hooked a finger under her chin and raised her head. "I know you're upset,  _querida_ , but Sonny isn't a puppy who'll find his way home only to be puzzled by an empty apartment."

She scowled and shoved his hand away. "I know that, Rafael! Don't be patronizing! That isn't why."

"Okay," he said, "then explain it to me. Do you  _want_  him to find you? Do you want him to hurt you?"

"I don't know!" She pushed to her feet and paced away. "No! Of course not. But all this protection didn't help before, did it? August is dead, Sonny is…god knows where…and the sketch isn't Micah Ramirez, so there isn't even a suspect at this point!"

He crossed his arms over his stomach and watched her restless progress around the room. "Olivia, punishing yourself won't help anything. The police just want to keep you safe.  _I_  want you safe!"

"I know. I do. And maybe I'm being selfish, but at this point…I don't feel any safer. I just feel  _angry_! And frustrated. And tired. It's within my rights to refuse their protection, isn't it? I'm not under arrest or suspicion or anything, right?"

"Legally, yes, of course you have the right to say no. But personally…I really wish you wouldn't." He rose and approached her slowly. When she didn't back away he took her arms in his hands and rubbed them gently. " _Cariña_ , please. I love you. I can't bear the thought of you being hurt or in danger."

"I'm not  _in_  danger, Rafi; I  _am_  danger. You could be next. We thought he wouldn't go after a cop, but look what's happened!  _You_  take the police protection and tell them to leave me alone."

He could feel his temper fraying. "Goddammit, Olivia—"

"Don't you dare! You say Sonny isn't a puppy trying to find his way home? Well I'm not a puppy either, Rafael! I don't need to be yelled at or swatted with a newspaper when I don't do what you want!"

"That isn't what I'm doing! I'm  _worried_  about you! This isn't a joke, Olivia. This man is a murderer. He's already attacked you once—"

"Yes, and all he did was take some pictures and leave a few bruises. What he did to August proves he could have killed me if he wanted to. Clearly he didn't. It's  _you_  I'm worried about, not me."

"You are the single most stubborn, impossible woman I have ever met!"

"Yeah, well, get used to it, because that's pretty much why you love me."

He took a step back, scrubbing a hand over his face, and shook his head. "I want to knock you over the head and carry you off somewhere safe."

She frowned at him. "That wouldn't improve my mood any, and I'm pretty sure that's what my stalker did to Carisi. Minus the  _safe_  part."

His eyes were tired as he studied her. "You aren't going to change your mind, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry. I don't want you to worry or be upset, but I can't stand being  _handled_."

"Olivia…" He sighed again. "Do you want me to go too?"

She hesitated, the frown deepening. "I…would like for you to stay. If you want. And if you promise not to bug me about the protective detail."

"I don't think you're a puppy," he said. "Less puppy, more angry  _gatito_."

Her lips moved in a weary smile. "You like when I'm your kitten, Papi."

"That's true," he said as he reached for her and pulled her close. "My fierce little kitten."

"I'm not helpless, Rafael."

"I know that." He nuzzled her chin and kissed the pulse in her throat. "You're far from helpless,  _cariña_. You don't have to prove yourself to me or anyone. There's nothing weak about accepting help."

She let her head fall to rest on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair with a gentle hand. "I know. In my brain I know. And it's not even about that! I just—I want my life back. And I'd rather the cops concentrate on finding Sonny. He should be their focus now, not me."

"There's a reason he took him now," Barba said. "He wants your attention, or he wants him out of the way."

"So why Sonny? Why didn't he take you too?" she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.

" _No sé_ ,  _princesa_. Opportunity, maybe? Or maybe since Sonny's the cop, he sees him as the bigger threat."

"Hmmph. He's clearly never seen you in court."

He laughed and kissed her temple. "Clearly." A long sigh, and he held her at arms' length. "You're sure about this? I really can't change your mind?"

"I'm sure," she said. "You really can't."

"Fine," he said, though he clearly wasn't happy about it. "On one condition: tomorrow, you stay with me."

Her face scrunched as she considered it, but finally she nodded. "Deal," she said. "Baloo and I will stay with you until they find Sonny."

His glower lessened only slightly, but he recognized it as a major victory. He didn't think she would back out of it this time, either. "I'll go talk to Liv. She sent me in here to change your mind, you know."

"Of course she did. I hope you set the proper expectations so she won't be too disappointed."

"I did my best, but she's used to me winning things."

"Sorry, baby. Even Perry Mason lost one."

He grumbled something in Spanish and trudged back to the living room to face the other Olivia. Within the hour all the cops were gone from her apartment, and the car was gone from outside. She was relieved, but she could tell Rafael was worried.

She wiggled onto the couch behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. Rested her chin on his shoulder. "Stay here tonight," she said.

"I thought you wanted some peace and quiet," he said.

"I do. You help with that." She kissed his ear. "Stay, Rafi? Please? I don't want either of us to be alone tonight."

"Of course I'll stay," he said. He took her hands in his and kissed the center of each palm. "I didn't mean—earlier, when I implied that you couldn't take care of yourself, that wasn't my intention. I apologize."

"So formal, Mr. Barba," she said with a soft laugh. "I know you're worried. I don't want you to think I'm an idiot. I fully recognize the danger I'm in, but…what good has having cops hovering around me twenty-four/seven done so far? It's not that I think they're incompetent; I just think this guy has their number."

"It does seem that way." He fell silent for a time, enjoying the feel of her against his back, the scent of her hair and the gentle beat of her heart.

"Tomorrow is August's service," she said. Her voice was soft in the quiet apartment, and he wished he could do something to assuage the sadness there.

"I remember. Would you like me to go with you?"

"Yes, please. That would be nice." She paused. "What have you told Lieutenant Benson about us?"

"Nothing in particular, but she's an excellent detective. She knows we're involved, but I don't think she knows exactly how."

"Hmm."

"I like to keep my private life private, Olivia, and Lieutenant Benson won't pry. Unlike Sonny, I don't work for her."

She shivered at the mention of his name. "Do you think he's dead?" she whispered.

"Don't say that,  _cariña_. If he'd wanted to kill him, he could have done that anywhere. He took him for a reason. Killing a police officer is automatic death penalty if convicted; he'll keep him alive."

She slid off the couch and held out a hand. "Let's go to bed, Rafi. I'm tired."

In the bedroom he undressed her slowly, kissing every inch of her skin and stroking her like she was something priceless and fragile. A few hours ago she couldn't have imagined wanting sex, but now she couldn't imagine  _not_  wanting it: she needed him, needed his hands and his mouth, needed to feel alive and on fire.

He lifted her onto the bed, and when he would've gone slow she urged him faster, harder. "Please, Papi," she breathed in his ear. "Fuck me!"

She clung to him, clawing at his back and biting his shoulder, and he gave in to her pleas, fucking her so that she moaned and yelped and shuddered beneath him.

"I love you!" she cried. "Fuck, Rafi, that's so good!"

" _Te amo_ , Olivia," he growled. "Mine. You're mine!"

"Yes, yes, yes oh  _god_!" She came hard, but he didn't let up, instead burying his face in her neck to kiss and bite and suck while he pulled her legs higher to thrust in deeper.

It lasted a long, delicious time, and neither of them had any idea that malevolent eyes watched their every move…and planned.


End file.
